


Help Me Breathe

by baby_novak_winchester_67



Category: Loki - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Asgard (Marvel), Comfort, Cutting, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Minor Original Character(s), Miðgarðr | Midgard, Muteness, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, POV Original Female Character, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner Loki (Marvel), Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sweet Loki (Marvel), Thanos (Marvel) Dies, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 02:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 69
Words: 251,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19843879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baby_novak_winchester_67/pseuds/baby_novak_winchester_67
Summary: Two years ago she suffered a horrific, traumatic experience that turned her entire life, and everything she knew, upside down; leaving her mute, unable to utter even a single sound. To the outside world it looks like she may finally be getting her life together again, but on the inside Annie Ellis is still just as messed up as she ever was. Then she starts a new job at the Avengers Compound/S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. There she finds a certain God of Mischief, kept prisoner ever since his attack on Earth, whose past intertwines with her own in the most surprising and unpredictable way. Can Loki help Annie muddle through the horror of her past, and can she reach him in the darkness he willingly chooses to seclude himself in? Can they, despite all that separates them, everything that forces them apart, find a way to be together? Can they help each other breathe again?





	1. First Day Glitches

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone,  
> So this is the first proper, longer story I'm posting here and I'm, predictably, a little nervous about it. Some quick things and warnings: this story does include rape and some graphic descriptions. Loki is not the one who commits the acts! I will post trigger warnings before the chapters in question so be sure to at least skim these notes because I wouldnt want anyone to be surprised and triggered! But be aware that the subject of rape is an underlying issue throughout Annie's story.  
> This story also includes self harm, and again, I will warn accordingly.  
> This story is mostly finished so hopefully there won't be too many long waits between chapters, and as of right now it's looking like quite a long story. So if you like that kind of thing: strap in.  
> It might start off a bit slow, and if you're here for Loki I beg you to be patient since he probably wont appear in the first few chapters. Gotta build up the plot, ya know?! But we will soon enough be liberally imbued with Loki and his Loki-ness, just hang tight.  
> Also please excuse any spelling/grammatical errors. I edit as best as I can but I'm sure I've missed some stuff...  
> And that's about all I can think of to say really. Apart from that I obviously dont own Marvel or the Avengers, or Loki (sadly). The timeline's a bit out of whack, but it serves the point of my story so I dont care. Any characters that you don't recognize as Marvel are my own, including the main character of Annie.  
> Alright, I'm done. Hope you enjoy!

Another day another dollar. This is the lame attempt at a pep talk I try to give myself as I stand in the seemingly mile long driveway of the huge group of cinderblock buildings that sit in upstate New York, with nothing but a resolutely taped shut cardboard box in my arms, and a half empty duffel bag slung over my shoulder. Of course the day hasn’t even technically started yet so it remains to be seen whether I will make that metaphorical dollar or whether I will run away screaming first. Well, no… actually… if I run away I know it won’t be screaming!

My new job is not glamorous but it is still a step up. I used to be a cleaning lady/ janitor’s assistant in an elementary school, cleaning up after puking, peeing, snot nosed little brats, who were just in the stages of discovering how fun it was to stick gum underneath chairs and desks. Fun for all but the poor sod who’d have to scrape the ick off after hours. Namely: moi! 

To say this job was subpar for a 20 year old woman with almost a PhD in Advanced Chemistry is severely understating things. But I have certain restrictions and disabilities that prevent me from finding a job in what was once my chosen field. A cleaning lady let’s me blend into the background after hours. Silently! That’s the most important part here. 

Anyway, I became tentative friends with the science teacher at the elementary school and after a while she discovered my background and used some connections because she thought I was way under-tasked and not living up to my potential where I was. Duh! But she did manage to help me get the new job here. She’s an old classmate’s of Dr. Bruce Banner’s and called in a favour with him or something. Honestly I didn’t pay too much attention…

Where is here? Here is at the new Avengers Compound/S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters on the outskirts of New York City. What is my job? Well, it’s not much more glamorous. I am now the cleaning technician in the Compound’s main lab. I’m in charge of getting rid of hazardous materials and cleaning anything contaminated and just in general taking care of hygiene and the lab equipment. Fun stuff. But at least this way I get to be around something chemistry related again. Which is a definite step up, because the chemical makeup of vomit does not interest me. No, thank you!

And this job I am starting today. If I can will myself to enter the compound. I got dropped off about twenty minutes ago by the very miffed cab driver who probably thinks I’m a gigantic, rude B-witch since I didn’t say a word to him. If I could have, I would have told him not to take it personally. I don’t speak. To anyone. Ever. Not anymore.

All I’m carrying is that cursed cardboard box, and the medium sized duffel bag that holds all my worldly belongings, because not only am I starting a new job, I’m also moving in. One of the perks. Free room and board.

For this reason alone, so I don’t lose this new home, I will my feet to move forward. I actually manage to enter the building. Once inside, instead of doing what I know I should, which is find Lab 209, my feet automatically turn towards the restroom sign down the hall. A safe haven! I duck inside and quickly lock myself into a stall. Just for a minute, I tell myself.

I press my forehead to the cold metal of the stall door soaking in the soothing coolness while trying to ignore the fact that I’m probably also soaking in a whole lots germs! 

It starts like it always does. Quietly and like a faintly annoying humming in my ears. It gets louder and louder until it becomes obvious that the humming is actually a heart wrenching, blood curdling scream of utter terror and pain. It bounces around my skull in a thousand unbearable echoes, reverberating through my mind until I’m sure that anyone in the vicinity must be staring at me and is ready to call 911. But no. No one can ever hear the screams. No one but me.

My hands curl into fists, fingernails digging into my palms, as the strap of the duffle slips from my shoulder, landing with a muffled whump on the damp floor.

Bang. Bang. Bang. I become aware, much more slowly than I should, that I am rhythmically slamming my forehead against the stall door in a futile attempt to stop or quiet the screams. Predictably it doesn’t work. 

But once I become aware of it I am able to seize back control. At least some semblance of it. I straighten up, shake my hair back, and unlock the door squeezing out and heading to the sink to splash cold water in my face. I try to avoid the mirrors as I always do nowadays, but today something draws my gaze. The girl that looks back at me looks sunken, deflated, like she’s a few sizes too small for the body she’s in. My clothes are baggy. I prefer this now, to hide my figure. My dirty –blonde hair is too long, scraped back into a messy but functional braid down my back, tendrils escaping to flutter around my face with no rhyme or reason whatsoever. My eyes look too big and like they’re perpetually popping out of my skull; their once vibrant silvery blue now looking dull and grey, like the sky is overcast. Which it is. I’m also too thin. I have an abundance of natural curves but with a loss of appetite that set in two years ago any excess padding that made my proportions work, has melted off me like wax, leaving me with curves that are no longer curves but too sharp angles. I know that’s what some women strive for, but on me it looks wrong. Not that I care anymore… My face is pasty and looks like it’s made from a bad Play-Doh mold. I look dead. I am dead. Inside! 

Forgoing the cooling face scrub, I grab my duffel and pull out the crumpled piece of paper in the front zippered pocket, then stand staring down at it waiting for it to speak up in a clear, precise voice, instructing me where to go. It doesn’t. Damn it!

I manage to locate a floor number though which seems like a good start, and so I hike my duffel bag back onto my shoulder, grab my cardboard box, and traipse off to find the stairs. I keep my head down in the hustle and bustle that ensues as soon as I make it past the lobby, having only had to swipe my secure ID once, to reach the inner sanctum. I watch my feet in their worn black converse as they traverse over the carpet which has a wide swath in the middle where too many feet have scuffed along.

I peek up occasionally to check room numbers and it takes me an inordinately long amount of time to register that the numbers are increasing instead of decreasing. I am heading the wrong way.

God, for the fact that I once was only weeks away from receiving a PhD, you’d think would have long ago mastered the rudimentary skill that is counting by ones. Apparently not!

I stumble as I do an about-face and tromp off in the opposite direction. Finally I locate Lab 209, which is the biggest lab in the building, therefore the main one, and the one I’ll be responsible for. I swipe my card. It beeps obnoxiously and does not open the door. I flip it around and try again. Same result. I try one more time for posterity, then, when it yields the same outcome, I sag defeated. I’m only 15 minutes late. Have I been fired already?!

Suddenly a shadow falls over me and I jump about a mile. “First day glitches?” the voice that speaks is warm and teasing. I don’t like it. I press myself against the door, fists squeezing closed automatically. As if I could actually punch out the automaton who stands in front of me now.

If this were high school he’d be a stereotypical jock, probably a quarterback. He’s tall and broad, and has sandy hair and warm baby blue eyes. All that’s missing is a lolling tongue and he’d be a golden retriever. His teeth are perfect enough to look capped, as he flashes me a megawatt smile. He’s probably waiting for some kind of girlish reaction. but all I want to do is puke at the close proximity, and all I can feel is my rapidly beating heart. 

“I’m Dylan. What’s your name, beautiful?”

I stare up at him in silence. 

His grin tilts up on one side, going crooked which I’m sure would be adorable to anyone else. “Should I guess?”

Yes, asshole, I’m the little mermaid and pretty soon you’re gonna get to kiss me while a crazy seagull sings us a sappy love ballad. I continue to stare at him, wishing he'd just leave, or open the damn door, since I’m sure his key works.

Prince Oblivious stares back at me the toothpaste-commercial worthy smile slowly sliding off his face. Just as he opens his mouth to surely impart some incredible nugget of information, or to make another inane remark, a voice echoes from behind him. “Agent Brenner.”

He turns, immediately standing to attention. I lean around his too wide frame to see a man in a dark three piece suit, sans third piece jacket, striding towards us. His dark hair and distinctive beard clearly mark him as the owner of this compound and therefore my boss: Tony Stark. 

He pulls his own card out of his vest pocket and swipes it, then opens the door and points me wordlessly inside. I skirt past him keeping my head down. He holds back Prince Oblivious and mumbles something to him. I can just imagine what he’s saying: New hire. Had a tough time. Doesn’t speak. 

Great!

I retreat to a back room and stash my things there. As I exit, Prince Oblivious; no; Agent Oblivious, is in front of me again. He gives me a sheepish smile and opens his mouth probably to spout some more words that I don’t care about! Leave me alone!

I hop past him and head to what I think to be a supply closet. Tony Stark steps into my peripheral line of sight. I turn to face him warily, sure that I’m about to get a reprimand for being late. “Ms. Ellis,” he says smoothly. “Welcome to the compound.”

I twitch my lips up into a half-hearted imitation of an attempt at a smile. Mr. Stark does not offer to shake my hand. I wonder if it’s because he knows about my history and therefore assumes that physical contact, especially with the male species, makes me jittery. If so, then he is right. 

“I hope you’ll like it here. Have you seen your room yet?” 

I shake my head. 

“When you do, let me know if you need anything. And don’t worry about your ID card. Sometimes the magnetic strip takes a few hours to activate after issue. It’ll be up and working by tomorrow.. 

I nod.

“I guess you know everything there is to know about the lab, huh?”

I nod again. I’ve never been to this lab before, obviously, but I’ve seen my fair share of labs and Chemistry is the same in all of them so I should be good.

“We have another new hire coming in tomorrow so you’ll meet him then. In the meantime I look forward to having a new face around.” He smiles at me.

This time the slight tilt of my lips is genuine, though it dies down pretty quickly. He leaves and thankfully takes Agent Oblivious with him.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. I clean, and sort and am, thankfully, left alone by the few people I meet. When my shift is done I clock out and, having managed to regain my grasp of numbers and counting, find my room relatively quickly. Once there I lock the door, toss my duffel into the nearest corner, stuff the cardboard box into the back off the tiny closet, and collapse face down on the bed.

I’m wiped. Human interaction, plus the anxiety that comes with that, always wears me out. I know I should eat something in the cafeteria, but food, as always, is unappetizing. Usually I manage to overcome this and at least eat enough to sustain myself to a living degree, if you can call this existence of mine living, but today I can't manage to make myself even care. Besides, I’ve already overcome a significant amount of personal hurdles today. No, I do not need food. I’ll eat breakfast when I wake up. Or lunch. Or… whatever. I’ll eat tomorrow, anyway.

I schlep myself into the bathroom and wash quickly, then unceremoniously dump the complete contents of my duffle into one of the drawers of the single dresser that stands in the corner. From this pile I extricate the oversize G&R shirt I always sleep in, then throw myself into bed.

I managed to survive the day and all its difficulties. Yay me! Now if only the nights were any easier to bear…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty. That's it for chapter uno. What did y'all think? As I said it's my first story here so literally any feedback is very very much appreciated even if all you do is drop a quick thumbs up or thumbs down in the comments. Probably a bit of a slow start but it'll pick up soon enough, and I'll post an update either tomorrow or the day after, depending on how long editing takes me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading!!!


	2. The Man in the Cell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two. We get our first tiny little glimpse of Loki. That's really all I can think of to say. I hope you enjoy.

The next day starts with me catching myself in a lie. I do not eat breakfast. Though to be fair, when my day started the kitchens weren’t even open yet. I managed to grab about three hours of restless sleep, riddled by my usual nightmares, before I gave in to the darkness within, and went wandering. I traipsed aimlessly through the compound, getting lost in the dark, yawning, pitch black abyss that is my mind, and by the time I managed to haul myself out of there, the sun was up and I was, again, almost late for work. But I made it on time. And my card worked. Plus I managed to avoid the scene from yesterday in the bathroom. If I was an optimist I’d say that this day was looking up. But I’m not an optimist anymore and so I don’t say anything.

Someone else is late today though. He bursts through the door in a whirl of spiky black hair, horn rimmed glasses, and zits. He holds out a hand to me and I prepare myself for the internally stabbing impact that always accompanies physical contact now.

I shake his hand. 

“Hey, I’m Lucas. I’m the new lab tech. You must be Annie.”

I raise and drop one shoulder in unenthusiastic agreement. He hasn’t let go of my hand, and leans closer, making my insides vibrate with anxiety and the need to pull away. “Don’t worry, Mr. Stark told me about your… complications.”

Aah, yes. My complications. Like in a surgery. In the quintuple bypass of my life there were some complications, and the result is this hot mess! Great.

Lucas grins at me, revealing crooked, slightly yellowed teeth. He’s the quintessential geek if I were still following my internal high school AU. I particularly enjoy the touch of nostalgia lent to him by the knitted Henley he wears. I’ve met two of the five key players now. The Geek, and the Jock. Missing are the Princess, and the Bully, since I am clearly the Basket-Case. Then we can get this little Breakfast Club started. Or maybe it should be called the Lunch Club instead, since, as we already know, I missed breakfast.

“So how you likin' the job?” he asks, then reddens slightly. “Shit, sorry. You don’t have to answer that.” 

No shit, Sherlock. I mutely stare at him, wondering just what is wrong with me?! Why can’t I be a normal girl having a conversation with her co-worker who is a cute guy? Of course, I know the answer to that. I am not a normal girl. Not anymore. And I would never want to subject this guy, who is nice but still gives me the willie’s, through no fault of his own, to my screwed up-ness. And so I turn around, firmly presenting him my back.

It doesn’t deter him though. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter all through the first half of the day, occasionally slipping up and asking me questions which I cannot answer with a nod or shake of my head or a shrug. When this happens he falls all over himself, apologizing profusely, and assuring me that I absolutely don’t need to answer, as if I would even consider it. I kind of wish he wouldn’t make such a big deal out of it…

It turns out that he’s only a temp, working part time this semester to pay his way through college. As such he gets to leave after lunch, leaving me alone again until 5.

At around three the door opens and my Disney Prince comes striding in along with an intimidating dark man in an eyepatch. The latter nods politely at me, then moves off to search through one of the filing cabinets that stand near the back room. Dylan sidles up to me. I sidestep away from him and fumble my pencil, which drops to the floor and rolls away merrily. Like a good dog, Golden Retriever Boy jumps and fetches it back, handing it to me with a wide grin. I force myself to smile tightly and try to avoid touching his hand as I take back my pencil.

I don’t quite manage it though and an electric current zaps through me, though it is anything but pleasant the way it usually is in sappy romance novels. It makes my hair stand on end and my stomach queasy. 

Thankfully the scary guy, who quickly and politely identifies himself as Director Nick Fury, drags the overeager puppy away from me.

I forgo dinner again that night, but hit the vending machines and manage to stuff down two and a half protein bars before I again attempt to wrangle some sleep from my twisted mind.

And so it goes. A routine begins to form, one that I’m not totally comfortable with, but one that I can handle. It’s a precarious handling, as is everything in my life, but that’s fine. I’m used to it. Lucas is kind, and happy, and chatty, telling me about his days and projects he’s doing in school, and his friends, and his attempts at getting into the local fraternity which bears the unfortunate name of Sigma Tau Delta making its initials STD. That nugget of information actually wrings a genuine smile from me, which sends Lucas into near hyperventilating bouts of triumphant excitement.

Agent Brenner finds excuses to drop by everyday, and I find excuses to be in different rooms whenever he is here. You’d think he'd get the hint, but he doesn’t. And every night I wander the halls, sometimes longer hours, sometimes shorter hours. But with the results that after two weeks I now know the building better than most of the people who’ve worked here for years.

It's during one of my night time wanderings that I first come across him. It’s early in the morning, almost time for me to get to work. I’m pushing it already because I originally wanted to take a shower, but I’ve just stumbled upon a wing in the basement level that I haven’t seen before. I decide that I’m just going to look through the first of the ten door I can see, and then I’ll go to work and forgo the shower, pushing it to evening. Or maybe I’ll grab it at lunch, and give myself an excuse to not eat it with Lucas and his overzealous group of friends who make up the other lab tech interns from the compound’s other labs. I am such an antisocial!

I frown as I push open the door and lay eyes on the hallway beyond. It’s long; seemingly endless, with doors on each side. It vaguely reminds me of something but I can’t grasp it. 

Shrugging, I start to wander down it, quickly realizing that the doors are in fact, cells. So this is like a weird pseudo dungeon of sorts.

All of a sudden it hits me what I’m reminded of: this hallway is like the one in Silence of the Lambs, albeit a bit cleaner, and less old looking. But really, I wouldn’t be surprised if whichever architect designed this, confessed to being inspired by the movie.

I reach the end of the hallway, peering into the cell to the right.

“Well, well, well… what have we here?!”

I spin around so fast I crash into the wall behind me. Not all the cells are empty! There in the last one on the left is a lone occupant. He sits on the teensy cot that’s pushed up right against the rough stone wall, arms crossed, and half in shadow. His shoulders are hunched forwards and he’s watching me from underneath the sweep of dishevelled, inky black hair that falls over his forehead, with eyes that sparkle dark as onyx from here. 

I gulp as I press backwards into the Plexiglas behind me. He seems familiar but I can’t place him. The way he’s sitting suggests he’s holding the weight of the world on his shoulders, trying to keep himself above ground when all the demons in the world are trying to pull him down, down, down into hell. I know that feeling. I’m living it myself.

His head cants to one side as I continue to stare at him. It’s not just his looks that are familiar. There was something about his voice too… but I can’t place it.

He rises from the bed and I startle, the sudden movement reminding me of the fact that since he’s locked in one of these cells, chances are good that he is dangerous, and that I should not be anywhere near him. I wheel on the spot and bolt, running back down the hall of cells. As I flee I hear him calling merrily from behind me “Goodbye.” 

And again a jolt of recognition zaps through me.

I’m distracted the rest of the day. The guy I saw, and how familiar he was to me, plays around in my mind. I tune out Lucas's incessant chattering and it’s only when he stands in front of me with a bright eyed, questioning look on his face, that I return to the here and now.

I blink at him, then lift my shoulders with what I hope is rueful expression on my face, indicating that I missed what he said.

“Do you want to go to the party with me?”

My disgust must show on my face, though Mr. bright and happy misinterprets it as confusion. “Come on Annie-Bananie , you have to know about the party.”

He's recently started calling me Annie-Bananie. I’m ambivalent about it. I shrug again, indicating that I have no clue what he’s going on about.

“It’s apparently a tradition here. At the end of every month they throw a little party. Mr. Stark is totally cool with it. It’ll be in Hangar 3. You don’t even have to leave the compound. I could pick you up and we could find the hangar together?”

I know exactly where the hanger in question is, having found it on the fourth of my nighttime forays. Or was it the fifth? Whatever. I also know that it is huge and mostly empty, housing only the Quinjet. 

I chew my lips as my insides roil. I do not want to go to this party. I do not want to go with Lucas. And I do not want to put in the ginormous amount of extra effort it would take to not spontaneously combust in a gathering of loud, mostly drunk agents. But I know I should go. If I want to have some semblance of a normal life, which I swore to myself I would aim for when I took this job, then I should go. This is what people do right? They hang out with co-workers and- gak- friends after work right?

I don’t remember what’s normal.

What about Lucas? Should I go with him? I don’t really want to. Not because I don’t like him. I do. As much as I am currently able to like anybody, which isn’t much, but there you go. Not because I’m afraid of him, because I’m 99% sure he’s harmless. But still… Will he think this is a date? I am not ready for that; I’ll never be ready for that, but maybe I should go with him… It would add another layer of normalcy. And now that I think about it, Agent Brenner has been dropping hints about this weekend all over the goddamn place, all week. And if I was forced at gunpoint to choose, I’d much rather go with Lucas than with Agent Dylan “Smarmy" Brenner.

It appears I’ve once again taken too long to answer because Lucas clears his throat awkwardly. “It wouldn’t have to be a date… we could just go as friends…” he offers.

I take a deep breath as if I’m preparing myself for a fifty foot bungee jump. Which to me this is exactly the equivalent of. Then I nod.

“Really? Cool. Tell me your room number and I’ll pick you up…” he breaks off when he realizes what he said. While he’s babbling his inane apology I grab a pen and write the number down on my palm, then flip it around to show him.

I wait patiently until he grasps the out I’ve given him. When he does, he smiles widely, dimples coming out to play. “Great. I’ll pick you up around 6 then. On Saturday.”

I nod my reluctant assent, then turn and flee from the room, deciding to take my allotted lunch hour early today, having maxed out my quota for human interaction, and needing some solitude to charge myself up enough to be able to face Agent Brenner’s inevitable, unavoidable visit in the latter half of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand there we go. Hope that was okay. I know that was a very unsatisfying taste of Loki and it'll take a few more chapters before he's back, but then we will get a lot of him. Thanks for reading, and if y'all want please let me know what you think so far.


	3. The Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter-ish chapter but I'll update tomorrow or later in the day. I will say TRIGGER WARNING for sexual assault/harassment in this chapter, so use caution. Also we get some Steve.

It’s Saturday. I’m sitting on my bed waiting for Lucas. My mind is spinning wildly and my palms are sweating. And no, this is not cutesy pre-date jitters. I feel nauseous with nerves. What am I doing? What the hell am I doing? It’s not too late to change my mind. I could feign a headache. Or a stomach ache. Or I could just not open the door when he knocks…

He knocks. On autopilot my traitorous body rises and opens the door. There stands Lucas looking like he’s trying way too hard to be cool in ripped jeans and a washed out shirt. He doesn’t look remotely geek like, which is underscored by the black aviator sunglasses he sports, though night has already fallen outside my window. I can still see traces of the geek in the obvious prescription lenses in his sunglasses; their thickness giving them away. I also see his knitted Henley tied around his waist. Guess you can take the boy out of the geek but you can’t take the geek out of the boy. Or something like that. It almost makes me crack a smile.

“Wow, Annie. You look nice.” He says whipping of his sunglasses in a move that’s supposed to make him look cool. Though it actually makes him look dorky because now he can’t see and he has to squint.

Doesn’t matter. He’s lying anyway. I don’t look any different than I normally do. Black converse, jeans, black long sleeved shirt. Braid. No makeup. No lab coat as well, but he’s seen me without that before. I shrug, reluctantly accepting the lame attempt at a compliment, then slam my door behind me before I can decide to make one of those excuses.

We walk down the hall in silence. It’s weird. Somehow Lucas is not his usual Chatty-Cathy self. Maybe he needs the buffer of the lab to do that… Me, I’m used to silence but it’s usually one sided. And the awkward uncomfortableness that Lucas exudes is also rubbing off on me.

I do my best to ignore it as by unspoken agreement I take the lead toward Hangar 3. Lucas doesn’t question how I seem to automatically know the way through the twisting labyrinth that is headquarters. Maybe because he’s finally accepted that I won’t answer?!

We hear the party long before we see it; the sounds of drunken frivolities reaching around several corners. When we arrive I immediately shrink down overwhelmed by the noise and the crush of bodies. Lucas is hailed by a group of his friends and grabs my hand pulling me along behind him as he makes his way over. Beyond the usual lingering stab of discomfort I don’t even mind because his hand gives me something to anchor myself to in this madness. I just got here and I already regret coming. I wish I could go back to my room.

Lucas has found his voice and is animatedly chatting with his friends. He’s been attentive and passed me a red solo cup of beer, which I pretend to nurse though not a drop has touched my lips. I’m taking deep breaths, trying to contain the crazy and not hightail it from the room like my braid is on fire, but it’s getting harder and harder to bear. Maybe if I had some air for a few minutes I could re-center myself. I remember the huge bay doors and the little access door beside it. If I can reach that, I can step outside for a second and then slip back in unnoticed.

I throw a quick, covert glance at Lucas and am surprised to see that he’s wrapped like a squid around another lab tech, looking like he is trying and failing to give her mouth to mouth. Well, good for him. At least one of us is having fun.

I detach myself from the group and hurry towards where I think the hangar doors are, ditching my drink on a random table. I got turned around earlier but I figure if I can find a wall I can continue on in either direction sticking to that and eventually I’ll find the door.

By my calculations and my previous trips into this room I deduce that I must have almost reached the door when someone steps into my path. A tall, broad shouldered someone with sandy hair and powder blue eyes.

“Hey, you.” Says Agent Brenner. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

He says “you" like I’m some newly discovered specimen in the Amazon rainforest that he’s excited about having discovered but still somehow weirded out by because it’s got five million pairs of legs, or seven eyes, or something.

He throws an arm around me like we're pals, buddies, besties. Everything inside me seizes up tight. “Come meet some of the guys.”

He steers me toward a raucous group of dude-bros in the center of the room. This is exactly where I don’t want to go; back into the thick of the fray. I resist but I may as well try to resist class five hurricane winds for all the good it does.

I recognize the man in the center of the bunch as the God of Thunder himself. Thor. He laughs uproariously as he downs a giant stein of beer in basically one pull. He leans over and taps the keg, filling his litre big mug again, then toasts Mr. Stark who’s in full Ironman suit, minus the mask, and is piss drunk. 

Dylan introduces me and there’s a great cheer as everyone toasts me. I hate the attention of everyone being focused on me, and I quiver. The world begins to tilt beneath my feet and I reach out a hand to balance myself, bracing against the closest thing to me which just so happens to be Dylan’s shoulder. 

He catches me under the elbow, and I can’t even really mind since I’m just glad for some support so I don’t collapse in a heap on the floor right here. Chances are this intoxicated bunch won’t even notice, and will wind up trampling me.

“You alright?” he leans down and yells in my ear to be heard over the noise.

His warm, stale, beer scented breath blasting across my face does nothing to help my rising nausea, and I press a hand to my lips and shake my head.

“Want some air?”

I nod desperately. Yes. Air. Yes. 

Please!

Dylan nods and grasps my elbow lightly, leading me away. I stumble after him, reluctantly letting him lead while I focus on not barfing up my spleen.

A series of beeps draws me out of my reverie, and next second I find myself ascending a ramp. I blink hard, my brain scrambling to keep up. Where am I? This is not outside. I look over my shoulder and from my higher vantage point I spy the hangar doors directly across from me about a hundred yards away. What. No!

I realize where I am the second that Dylan turns around. I’m in the Quinjet. Dylan must have the access codes. 

I stumble back a step, or at least I try to. Dylan’s strong arms are suddenly there, circling round my shoulders and pulling me into him. I strain against him, but it doesn’t work. He pets my shoulders, and I debate whether I should release the floodgates and vomit all over his expensive looking leather jacket, or if I should continue to fight to keep it down. 

“Relax, beautiful. You’re so tense.” He's holding me snugly against him, kneading my shoulders in what I’m sure he imagines to be a soothing massage.

He leans down and I draw back, my head bumping into the instrument panel behind me. He doesn’t take the hint and keeps right on coming. My brain short circuits and fries the second his lips touch down on mine. They’re rubbery and slimy, his kiss wet and tasting like beer and cigarettes, and onions and beef jerky. 

“Just relax.” He says again, speaking against my mouth. “This is nice isn’t it? If you don’t like it, just tell me to stop.”

Stop! My brain shouts. STOP STOP STOP! I will the words to make it out of my mouth, and they rise in my throat like a tide, then splinter and sheer off in all directions, making what comes past my lips a breathy gasp, which Dylan either purposely or ignorantly interprets as lusty and desirous.

His mouth smashes back down on mine and the screaming rises again, eclipsing everything. Can’t somebody hear? Why isn’t anyone coming? Can't they hear the screaming? My fists are beating against his chest, but he captures my wrists and holds my hands there while he pushes me backwards into the control panel. I’m sure from the outside looking in this must look like an amorous embrace, but it is not! It’s anything but. I can’t breathe!

“Hey!” the unfamiliar voice rings through the interior of the Quinjet. Dylan looks up at the newcomer, and I focus on getting my lungs to unclench and draw in oxygen.

“Agent Brenner. What are you doing?” I don’t know the voice of the guy but as my head swivels to the left I see he looks eerily similar to Dylan, though even taller and broader and, impossibly, even more handsome. Also blond. Blue eyed. Classic jock. 

“What does it look like, Captain Rogers?” Dylan says in a respectful tone of voice, through which the smirk is clearly audible.

“Your partner does not seem at all on board with your advances.” The man, who I vaguely register as Captain America himself, says looking at me.

“If she doesn’t like it she can just say no.” Dylan says pointedly, drawing me closer to his side.

Suddenly my mind kick-starts into overdrive and I jam my elbow into his ribs, shoving back from him and stumbling towards the other man who catches me by the shoulders. Panicked, I wrench away from him too, now standing in between them, the vulnerable leaf of lettuce in the middle of a jock-ham sandwich, made with all-American bread.

“She doesn’t talk and you know it!” Captain Rogers says angrily, and in the back of my mind I wonder how he knows that.

Dylan reaches for me at the same moment as the star spangled man with a plan steps aside, clearly seeing that I’m about to bowl him over with my vibrating need to escape.

I hurtle past him down the ramp, dimly hearing even over the muted screams, clumping footsteps chasing after me and the muffled sound of what I assume to be a fist against a jaw, though I have no idea who punched whom, and no interest or desire to turn back and find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done. Next chapter brings back Loki in a way more significant way so that's something to look forward to. Again sorry for any mistakes but I'm my own editor and by this point I've read my own words so much that I pretty much manage to accidentally ignore most errors... I hope it was okay anyway. If anyone feels like it please do drop a comment telling me what you think about literally anything at all. Pertaining to the story. Any feedback is greatly appreciated... VALIDATE ME!!! lol. Just kidding. I'm absolutely thrilled that anyone is even reading this and actually liking it. Thank youuuuuse!!!!! ♡♡♡♡


	4. A Helping Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yet another chapter. Two in one day. Look at that! I'm spoiling you guys because unfortunately updates will soon slow down some since my later chapters may be done, but they need a looooot of editing and proofreading. But I shall do my best! TRIGGER WARNINGS for this chapter include panic attacks and flashbacks. Nothing descriptive or graphic. I just know that sometimes my own panic attacks can be triggered by just reading about someone having a panic attack. So due diligence, and be careful. Aaand final note: Loki!!! Yay. I'm not sure if I managed to write him in character. Sometimes when I read over it I think I did good, other times I think I sucked. I'll let y'all decide. Enjoy.

I run. Sprint. Get away! Need to get away! There’s whirling colors. No. No, there isn’t. It’s dark. There’s no bright lights. No swirling colors. It’s in my head. All in my head.

I run blindly, bouncing off walls like a rubber ball and crashing through doors. I think I meet a few people who call after me, but I can’t be sure. I have no idea where I’m going. Away. Just away. Keep moving. Keep moving. My footsteps echo. But I can barely hear them over the screaming in my head. Where am I going? How do I get there? Make it stop! Make it go away!

Darkness looms in front of me. Some base instinct kicks in and slows my footsteps down so I don’t crash full force into the dead end my wild flight had led me to. My hands come up and slap down on the rough stone as my body collides with bone jarring force. I don’t feel it. I ricochet and fall to the floor, where I curl up, stuffing my fists into my eye sockets.

I need to get up! I need to keep moving! My brain screams at me to keep moving. The last time I was truly safe I was up and moving. Move! But my body won’t cooperate. My lungs are burning, my chest heaving. I can’t suck in enough air, but I don’t know if that’s because of my panic or from the exertion of full on sprinting when I normally don’t even run when I’m late. My hands are curled into fists, my nails digging into my palms, but not even the small licks of pain can help dissipate the ever mounting panic in any way this time.

And still there’s that awful screaming in my head. The scream claws it’s way up my throat, fighting desperately to get out. I want to let it out. I’m going to let it out. I open my mouth to let it out-

The noise jams itself sideways in my throat and all that falls from my lips is a soundless, choking gurgle. Bile rises past the constriction. It washes through my mouth and I turn to the side, forcefully expelling the meager contents of my stomach all over the smooth stone floor.

My heart seizes up in terror before my brain catches on to the threat. Then it realizes what my heart already sensed. Footsteps. Beside me.

My head flies up and to the side, eyes wide.

He’s there. Standing barely a meter beside me. Him. The one I haven’t been able to get out of my head since I first saw him. That I’d end up back here of all places. Oh, cruel irony.

He doesn’t speak; doesn’t apologize for clearly startling me. His face is in shadow, his body language cautious. I’m sure he must see the blank horror splashed across my face even though those bright fluorescent ceiling lights are off today.

I watch him and as he drops to one knee I scuttle backwards like some spineless thing, completely forgetting that there is an inch thick sheet of Lexan between him and me.

I can’t determine the expression on his face but I see his eyes glittering at me from the darkness. One of his hands rises and presses itself flat to the glass.

I’m not sure what’s happening but somehow, inexplicably, my own hand reaches out and presses itself against the glass right over his. My breathing is still fast; too fast, but my eyes meet his gaze. Its steady and calming. He makes a rising motion with his free hand right in front of his diaphragm at the same time as his shoulders rise and his chest visibly expands on a deep breath. His hand flips around and pushes downwards as his shoulders sag and his ribcage contracts. He repeats the motion.

He wants me to take deep breaths with him. Got it.

My scrambled, panic addled brain latches on to the task which is normally so thoughtless and simple, but now requires all of my focus. I breathe slow and deep, in time with the man on the other side of the bulletproof divider, and even though there is no skin to skin contact it’s like I can feel his palm beneath mine.

The screaming in my head slowly dies down until it’s the subdued, humming, background noise that I’m used to. I feel the world settle around me.

“Better?” he asks in that rich, smooth voice that is so achingly familiar to me.

I nod cautiously, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. Instead I focus on the point where our hands connect.

“Would you like me to let go?” he asks softly, breaking off when he sees my head shaking rapidly. My fingers curl into claws against the glass as if that could keep him there.

“Alright.” His voice is soft and reassuring.

Without volition it seems, my body bows forward tiredly until my forehead is pressed against the glass right beside our hands. My eyes slide closed. My hand slips down the Plexiglas with a little squeak, but his hand follows the motion keeping us connected. I look up at him.

A small smile twitches his sculpted lips.

I blink at him. _What?_

“They shall find us here in a million years, mummified, our hands permanently attached to the glass.”

I bite my lip, glancing at our joined hands, suddenly excruciatingly self conscious.

“Stop it.” He says without force, his fingers curling slightly against the glass, like mine did before, in an imitation of holding on tighter.

I blink at him again, not sure what he wants me to stop.

“Do not feel guilty. This is perfectly fine.”

I look back up at him unable to keep the wonder out of my gaze. This guy is a criminal. A felon. Likely a very, very bad one given the fact that he’s in super hero über-jail instead of like Rikers or the Supermax or something. He’s probably a stereotypical supervillain. So why is he being nice to me? Why am I not feeling my usual flutters of panic and unease? Is it because of the bulletproof barrier that I know he can't get through?

I know I should be wary and afraid, but I’m not. I am still subconsciously matching my breathing to his and I don’t know if he notices or not.

Silence descends, not heavy or awkward, but calm. After a while he notices me covertly glancing around. “Did you come here on purpose?”

I shake my head.

He tilts his to the side, studying me. “Were you on an outing with whoever forced their attentions on you?”

I draw back shocked. How does he know?

“Your lips are swollen and there are bruises just forming around your wrists.” He offers gently by way of explanation.

I glance down at my wrists and see that he’s right; Dylan’s too tight grip evident in the shadows around them. I can't see my swollen lips but that the attentions were unwanted and forced is not a difficult conclusion to come to judging by the crying mess I was. Am. Was.

I shake my head in answer to his earlier question. “Then what happened?”

I stare at him and he grimaces. “My apologies.” He says lightly not at all annoyed or frustrated seeming at my refusal to answer him.

He tilts his head to the other side. “I am Loki.”

I blink at him, that name ringing several bells in my head, but I can’t focus on remembering right now. I need him to breathe. I can’t be figuring out who he is, and possibly being horrified once I do figure it out.

I hesitantly raise my free hand and slowly draw five large letters on the glass between us.

A. N. N. I. E.

“Annie?”

I nod.

“Annie.” He speaks the name softly, tasting it, trying it out. “Do you live in the building, Annie?”

I nod.

“How are you getting back?”

My breath hitches. Back. To my room. Away from him. My hand fists against the glass as my eyes widen and my body stiffens, then begins to tremble again.

“Whoa. Alright. Everything is fine. Breathe. Breathe with me.” He says straightening up and resuming his deep, even breathing. “I am not sending you away. You are more than welcome to stay here as long as you wish.”

I blink rapidly trying to get a handle on my irrational surge of panic again.

When I do I lean into the glass again.

“Alright?” he asks leaning closer himself. I blink as I, for the first time, see the color of his eyes. They are not black as I’d thought. They are a dark, deep forest green. The deepest, richest green I have ever seen. Beautiful.

I nod, distracted, and he smiles.

We descend into silence again. I know I need to let go. Soon. I can’t stay here all night. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to be here… 

But for now... I study him. He is tall and slim though I can see the evidence of powerful muscles playing beneath the black canvas shirt and pants he wears. He moves with a subdued feral grace, kind of like a stalking panther. His feet are bare. His thick, dark hair curls and waves slightly, framing his face and neck, then brushes his shoulders. He's wearing a collar. I frown slightly, focusing on the thick white piece of hardware that seems to be secured by a heavy lock in the back. I wonder what it does?

My questioning musings are interrupted by the heavy door at the end of the hallway opening. Both my head and Loki’s on the other side of the glass, turn to look at the newcomer. Our hands stay joined as my heartbeat quickens again.

The man from earlier, the one who saved me from Dylan’s clutches; Captain America, hurries in.

He’s about halfway down the hallway when he slows, taking in the scene before him. His eyes narrow and I realize how odd this must look. Me, kneeling here, being comforted by the equivalent of Hannibal Lecter himself. It probably looks like we have formed some evil alliance or something.

But even so I cannot make myself let go, even to alleviate the suspicions of one of the head honchos around here.

He strides forward, and I shrink down further. Loki on the other side of the glass straightens his spine and squares his shoulders as if he’s preparing to protect me. Which, how would he do through this wall?

“Annie?” Captain America stops about two meters away from me. “Are you okay?”

No. I nod, throwing a quick glance to the side where Loki is still bristling with unbridled energy.

“Captain Rogers.” He says formally. “When she is ready, would you be so kind as to escort Annie back to her quarters? I do not think she should be wandering the corridors alone tonight.”

I look back at him, and he looks back evenly, the frostiness leaving his eyes to show me that he is not sending me away, will stay here until I’m ready to let go, and is merely asking the Captain to provide me with safe passage when I’m ready for it.

This more than anything gives me the strength to let go. Almost. My fingers curl against his again, and I search his face, trying to find something. Anything. I don’t know what. An explanation as to why he’s doing this. The reason I’m not afraid of him. What he’s done to be in here. I don’t know.

He gazes back letting me look but not really offering me anything to see. “You can come back.” He says softly, and I know he’s trying to keep the Captain from hearing him. “Whenever you need. I am not going anywhere.” He gives a wry grin as he taps the glass lightly.

I nod. Then stand. He rises with me, both our hands dragging up the glass. His eyes are still fixed to mine. “Alright?”

I nod. Then I take a deep breath. Then another. And another. On the fifth one I slowly peel my hand, finger by finger, off the glass. Loki keeps his hand pressed against it, his eyes on me, giving me strength.

I become suddenly achingly aware that he has been accepting of me in a way that no one else has yet. Ever. Most people here have been briefed on my… situation, yet I can always see the pity, the judgement, the question, the confusion in their eyes. Being locked up down here he has no way of knowing what’s up with me, or why, and yet he remains completely non-judgemental; not weirded out, and unperturbed by the fact that I have yet to say a single word to him and never will. Not even thank you…

Not even thank you!

I blink at him, then stare intently, leaning closer trying to convey my gratitude without words. He nods slowly accepting and acknowledging it while at the same time letting me know that it is not necessary.

With one last deep breath I pull back completely and turn away. Captain Rogers has retreated several more steps down the hallway, giving me privacy, which surprises me. I stumble toward him and he leads me out of the hallway, holding the door for me. Before I exit I look back. I can’t see Loki from here, can’t even see his cell, but I know he’s there, sending me strength, for whatever reason.

I fall into step beside Captain America who gives me lots of space and doesn’t crowd me, which surprises me and helps my natural jitters somewhat, even though they are still amplified from earlier.

We’re about halfway to my room, which he somehow appears to know, when he speaks. “Did Agent Brenner hurt you?”

I shake my head.

“Did you go to the party with him?”

Shake.

“How did you end up with Loki?”

How am I supposed to answer that? I shrug.

He seems to realize his blunder. “Did you know him before?”

I shake my head.

“So you did not know about him from the battle of New York?”

The battle of New York?! I freeze midstride. Of course! Loki! The God of mischief. The trickster. The maniac who attacked and brought an entourage of aliens with him in his bid to subjugate the entire human race. That’s him! That’s where I know him from! I saw him on TV. And the reason it’s fuzzy is because everything in my life was fuzzy at that time, and nothing made sense or registered fully in my newly traumatized brain.

I saw him on TV in the nuthouse!

Captain America is studying me closely. I meet his gaze, my own eyes wide.

“I take it you only just realized who he is?”

I nod.

“Well, some say he’s changed, but I am not sure. Though after seeing him with you tonight I may be swayed… though he might have been playing an angle. He is manipulative. Be careful.”

I blink at him. This sounds like he’s telling me to go see him again. Or at least it doesn’t sound like he's forbidding me from going back to see him. Will I? Do I want to? Knowing who he is now?

Oh, who am I kidding?! I’d move right into that cell with him if it would stop the screaming in my head for even a minute, which strangely his presence seems to do.

I glance at Captain America cautiously. What will he do if I say yes?

“I’m not going to forbid you from going, Annie.” He says kindly. “I won’t even judge you for it. I’ll just warn you to be cautious. You should be safe from physical harm with Loki behind that wall, but like I said, he knows how to manipulate. But I’m told you’re smart. You’ll be careful.”

I nod. I will be. I’m always careful.

He frowns. “Technically you should not even have access to that part of the compound.” He muses. “Must be a glitch in your security code. I won’t tell them to correct it. And if they ever do, let me know and I’ll ensure that your access is restored, if that’s what you want.”

He continues striding down the hallway, and I follow unable to believe it. My brain is in overdrive trying to absorb everything that’s happened.

Before I know it we’ve reached my room. Captain America stops me before I walk inside. “Are you sure you’re okay?” his eyes search my face trying to catch my lie.

But I am not lying when I nod again. And that fact surprises me as much as him.

He nods. “Agent Brenner will be disciplined and reprimanded.” He assures me gruffly, a note of true anger in his voice.

I shrug. I don’t care what happens to him as long as he stays far the fuck away from me. Suddenly I remember the punch I thought I heard landing. My eyes search Captain Roger’s features but can’t find any evidence that suggest he took a fist to the face. My gaze drops to his hands. The knuckles on his right are bruised.

He catches me looking, and sighs. “Agent Brenner tried to go after you. I stopped him.”

My guilt must show on my face because Captain America’s eyes soften. “Don’t be sorry. He deserved it after what he did.”

I swallow heavily then turn once more towards the room not caring that I’m being rude. I’m too tired. I’ll probably care tomorrow and then I can fix it. Send the Captain an interoffice memo with my thanks or something. Yes, I’ll do that. The door falls shut behind me and I tamp down those feelings of guilt at my rude retreat and at Captain Roger’s mangled hand which is, after all, my fault too. I pad over to my bed and collapse on it.

I expect to be awake for hours, puzzling over, and analyzing everything until I sink into the residual panic that is still there beneath the strange healing salve that Loki has soothed over the open ragged wound. But it doesn’t happen and I sink into the first dreamless, truly restful sleep I’ve had in years!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom. Chapter 4. Man, I wish I had a Loki to calm me down when I have a panic attack. I do listen to Tom Hiddleston talking when I'm having one and sometimes that helps. That man's voice is like honey amd cinnamon and melted chocolate with strawberries. Alright I'm done being weird. Hope you liked it! As always any feedback is much appreciated and even if you don't have any to give, I love you tons for reading!


	5. Research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this chapter could be called kind of a filler chapter. I dont know... some important shit does go on and I think it does its job in furthering the plot but it is once more devoid of Loki. At least in the present form. No trigger warnings for this one but keep in mind that the trigger warning is always in effect for the underlying subject of rape... just a gentle reminder. Other than that, hope ya like!

The next morning I awake more rested and rejuvenated than I think I’ve ever felt. At least in the last two years. Part of me is glad when I see that it is already time for work; that I, in fact, will have to rush if I want to make it on time. The other half is disappointed. I’d been debating about whether I’d want to drop by the cellblock and see Loki again. I’m feeling very cautious about this. I do want to go back and feel safe again, see if that feeling persists if I’m not raw and vulnerable like I was last night. The other part of me is scared. Really, really scared. I don’t remember too much about what happened during the attack that he led because I was in a very, very dark place back then; darker even than now, but I do remember some things. And the things I remember are not pretty!

I put it forcibly out of my mind and go to work.

Lucas is his usual chatty self. He asks where I disappeared to last night, but knowing that he won’t get an answer he plows right over the space that would have been filled with the dead air of me not replying, and launches into a detailed play-by-play of his make out session with Emma, who is, apparently, absolutely amaze-balls! His words; not mine. It’s a bit TMI but honestly I’m just glad he’s talking to me again. That awkwardness from last night was painful.

I settle into our work routine, listening to him with a third of my brain focused on his words, a third focused on work, and the final third formulating a plan.

At lunch I bow out of going with Lucas to the cafeteria to watch him socialise and eat his usual peanut butter sandwhich. After he wrings the promise to join them tomorrow out of me, he leaves me alone. As soon as he’s gone I sit down at an empty table and fire up the search engine which projects into the air in front of my face. My fingers fly across the keyboard and with a few strokes I have pages and pages of information pertaining to the events of two years ago, right here in front of me. News clippings, blog posts, videos, eyewitness accounts, police reports, damage assessments. It’s all here in living color.

I gulp, feeling my fingers and toes grow numb and cold as I sift through it. I watch a video taken in Stuttgart, in which Loki can be clearly seen exiting the municipal building in a slick black suit. In front of my amazed eyes I watch it shimmer with green light before it turns into the most badass looking armour getup I’ve ever seen. The great golden horns that curve up out of the helmet that appeared on his head would look ridiculous on anyone else but on him look incredibly intimidating. I watch as a police car races, wailing shrilly, around the corner until Loki shoots a bolt of blue energy at it that flips it over and sends it skidding on its nose, throwing sparks as the metal screeches and scrapes against the pavement.

I watch as copies of him appear all around, caging in the panicking people mostly in formal suits and evening dresses, having run in fear from him out of whatever party he’d crashed.

I listen as he holds his soliloquy to the people in Germany that he’d trapped in this square, and when he violently shouts at them to kneel I get the urge to slip off my stool and prostrate myself on the floor in front of the computer.

I read the translated eyewitness account of a woman who was there, my eyes flying over the lines detailing how terrified she was, and how scary the God man was who yelled so angrily in a foreign language and used long complicated words that she didn’t understand even though she took English for years in school.

Then I get to the truly terrifying stuff. The aliens and the wormhole in New York. I can feel the color draining from my face when I see the swarm of aliens descending, accompanied by those gigantic monsters. I don’t know if those are ships or if they’re beings…

My hands shake so hard that I can barely click through the pages, but I see that he commanded them. He ordered the attacks and he did not call them back. And it’s him. Clearly. There’s no doubt in my mind, even though a lot of the time I just see him blurred and grainy in the lenses of cellphone cameras in the hands of amateur photographers, as he zips back and forth, fighting on the side of those terrifying monsters. I know it’s him. It’s instinctive. I can feel it.

I sit and stare at the screen, horrified. How could this man; this monster who did all these terrible things, who killed a confirmed 127 people in 4 days, and that was just through his own direct actions, not even counting the indirect casualties from the battle itself… how could that be the same person who was so kind, and calm, and gentle with me last night? How? It makes no sense. He hates humans! That much was clear to me barely even thirty seconds into this information gathering session. I’m human. Why did he act like he cared about me. Watching this I’d think he'd glean a great deal of vindictive pleasure watching me fall to pieces on the floor outside his cell…

I’m just about to close down the tab when something blips into existence that wasn’t there a second ago. It’s a file. An encrypted S.H.I.E.L.D. file; not part of the public record. I don’t know if my searching for the keywords “Loki" and “New York" triggered the file to pop up, but it's here now. And from there it takes only a few keystrokes for me to bypass the encryption and the password, and I’m in.

Immediately I see that this includes a whole lotta stuff that wasn’t part of the official news of the world. Intrigued I keep on sorting through it. I watch a video in which Loki is alone with Tony Stark in a penthouse that is clearly Mr. Stark’s home. I watch as he tosses Mr. Stark out a window, then watch Mr. Stark fly back up and return the favour by beaning him right in the gut with a repulsor blast. Something niggles at me about this clip and I rewind and watch it again. Then again.

It hits me on the third watch through. When Mr. Stark lists all the people that Loki has pissed off through his actions, Loki replies with a nonchalant “That was the plan.” And the shadow of a wink.

I frown. Somehow that doesn’t sit right with me. Why would it be his plan to piss off the only people powerful enough to band together and stop him? Why would he intentionally provoke them?

I click on another video and find one of him being taken into custody. The short clip where he turns into Captain America and mocks him with a stiff back, nasally voice, and crossed eyes makes me grin. The clip cuts out shortly after that.

But again something felt inconsistent. This time it doesn’t take me as long to catch it. As I watch the clip again I notice his eyes and once more am struck by their gorgeous green color; like emeralds.

Then it hits me. I jump back to the first clip I watched and scroll through it until I freeze frame on his face. A few mouse clicks zoom into his eyes, and there… his eyes here are blue. Clearly. Not a hint of green.

I reason that that might be a trick of the light and so I scroll forward searching for different angles. And in all of them his eyes are blue. What the hell does that mean?

I keep searching, coming on a few very detailed, very frightening diagrams of the alien monsters and discover that they are called the Chitauri.

The last thing in the folder is another video clip of Loki arriving at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, and razing that to the ground after killing several people, putting several more under mind control, and stealing the blue cube thingy. This time I see immediately what is wrong with this picture, but I wait to analyze it until I’ve watched the whole clip.

Once I have, I go back and study Loki and how he looked after he exploded through that weird portal thing he created with help of the blue cube. He looks horrible. Gaunt and sweaty, and even paler than usual; ashy kind of. There’s dark circles under his sunken eyes. He’s having trouble walking straight, and clearly looks exhausted. Considering that I’ve just watched footage of him being repulsor blasted through windows, tossed about by his brother, thrown from speeding planes and cars, and being Hulk smashed and he never really looked the worse for wear; a few minor bruises and scrapes at the worst… this looks infinitely more serious!

I conclude that wherever he came from when that blue thing sucked him into the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, it was not a five star hotel. In fact I’d wager that he was being tortured there. Badly.

So what does that mean? Does that mean that the attacks on Stuttgart and New York weren’t his plan? Was he being forced to do that? Acting on someone else’s orders?

I’m so busy frowning at the screen that I don’t hear the door opening and don’t realize I have company until said company speaks my name.

Quickly I close down all the open tabs and turn to face Mr. Stark himself, who’s striding towards me and looks like he got up on the bad side of a hangover.

“How’re you doing, kiddo?” he asks.

I shrug.

“Heard what happened last night. I came to tell you that Agent Brenner has been suspended and taken off active duty, so he’ll be pushing pencils for a while. I’ve also rescinded his access to this lab so he won't be getting in here anymore to bother you.”

I chew my lip. It infuriates me that Agent Brenner only got suspended. Honestly, he should have gotten fired. Suspension is a slap on the wrist. Suspension ends. He’ll be back on active duty long before I get over what he did. But I guess it’s the best I got. At least something in the way of repercussion happened to him. Unlike…

No. Don’t fucking go there.

My fingers fly over the keyboard, then I reach up and flip the holo-screen around in mid air to face Mr. Stark. _Thank you, sir!_ it reads.

Mr. Stark smiles sadly. “No problem, kiddo. I’m only sorry that you had to go through that at all.”

I shrug again. Nothing either of us can do to change it now. Or will do, but that’s a different ballgame.

“Is that coffee?” he asks, making me start and stare at him guiltily over the mug I’d filled earlier then forgotten about in my frantic Google searching. I’ve broken the number one lab rule everywhere: No food or drink in the lab.

_I was on my lunch break._ I type.

He waves an airy hand. “Nah, I wasn’t bothered about that. I wanted to know if there was any chance that I could get a cup of joe. My head is killing me. Thor’s Asgardian stuff is hard-core.”

I smile slightly, then push my own untouched cup toward him. Apparently he doesn’t even care that it's stone cold because he grabs it and downs it in three mighty swallows. He groans gratefully then smiles. “Thanks. So listen, kiddo; I came here to give you the rest of the day off. I figured you could use a break after yesterday. Plus I know you’ve been working hard. This lab’s never been so clean and organized. So yea, take the day.”

I glance at the clock. It’s barely two. That would give me three extra hours. Normally I would decline because three extra hours with nothing to do, trapped in the vortex of my own mind is torture. I spend all night there, I don’t need it during the day too. I work to keep busy and keep myself distracted. But today… I want to see Loki again. After that stuff I saw in the S.H.I.E.L.D. encrypted file, reasonable doubt has planted its seeds in my brain and I want to see him again. Will I stay? I don’t know. Maybe it’ll be like the first time I accidentally came across him; I’ll arrive, I’ll stare at him like a deer in headlights, and then I’ll bolt. But maybe that wonderful peace and quiet will settle over me again. And maybe I’ll stay…

I type quickly since I feel it’s only the right thing to say: _Are you sure, sir?_

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure. Take the day. Go have fun. But before you go, Annie, can I ask a question?”

I shrug, then nod cautiously.

“I talked to Bruce, who talked to Cindy Reynolds.”

I frown at the mention of my friend the science teacher who got me the job here.

“He said that she told him that about two years ago you were this close to getting your PhD in chemistry.” He holds up his hand thumb and forefinger a hairsbreadth away from touching in a pinchy motion to show this close. “That’s damn impressive for an eighteen year old. I pulled up your records and saw all your old test scores, your SATs, you IQ, and your dissertations. You’re wicked smart, Annie, probably, not to toot my son horn here but toot, toot, smart enough to rival me and that’s saying something. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

I blink rapidly my eyes un-focusing for a second to see whirling light and spinning color. I hear raucous laughter and breaking beer bottles shattering in my head. I smell grass and dirt, and taste the acrid taste of aspartame and syrup in my mouth. Then I tamp it down as well as the rising screams. I curl my left hand into a fists, digging my fingernails hard into my palm and use my right hand to type. _The other stuff that’s mentioned in my records happened._

Comprehension lights up in Tony’s eyes, followed immediately by their darkening in pity and sadness. I look away.

“I have some pull at MIT. If you want I could look into what it would take for you to finish the process of getting your PhD?” He throws this out there so lightly as if it means nothing at all.

Too me even the possibility of that means everything. My head flies up and I stare at him. I don’t even have to type it; he sees the question in my wide, hopeful eyes. Really?!

He smiles. “I’ll see what they say. If we cited extenuating circumstances… combined with dropping my name… yea, that should work. I’ll let you know what they say. You might have to write a new dissertation though. You prepared to do that?”

I nod fervently.

He smiles, then claps me lightly on the shoulder. The perfunctory shudder that passes through me goes unnoticed by him, and even I don’t really pay it too much attention because I’m too busy trying to grasp the possibilities that he’s just opened up inside my mind’s eye. And too busy sabotaging myself, telling myself that it will never work anyway because I just don’t have that kind of luck. Not anymore. Sometimes it really sucks to live inside my head. No, not sometimes. All the time.

“Oh, one more thing before I forget.” Mr. Stark doubles back, placing what looks like a little remote control with only one button on it in front of me.

I frown down at it, then up at him.

“I’ve reprogrammed J.A.R.V.I.S. with a new interface that let’s you communicate with him in Morse code. You know Morse, right?”

I nod slowly, my eyes wide as I look at him in disbelief. Did he really go through all that trouble for me?

He reads my mind. “It's no trouble. I thought it was unfair that we could all use J.A.R.V.I.S and you couldn’t, so I made some adjustments.” He smiles.

I smile back, hoping he sees the thank you in my eyes.

“No problem, kiddo. I’ll get out of your hair. Let you enjoy your free time. And I’ll let you know as soon as I do what the profs at MIT say.”

I just nod, slightly shell shocked as I watch Mr. Stark leave for the second d time.

I sit staring at the little button. I’m raring to try it out because I’ve seen the J.A.R.V.I.S. interface get used before by others, but for obvious reasons have been unable to communicate with it myself. I wasn’t jealous, and I didn’t think it was unfair; I just saw it as another limitation to my disability and accepted it.

But now… I pick up the button and put it in my pocket. I’ll play with that later. Right now I have a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously I am a firm believer in the fact that what Loki did on Midgard wasnt done of his own free will. I mean Marvel's basically confirmed as much but I chose to believe that Loki was as much mind controlled as Hawkeye and Dr Selvig. If you personally dont believe that, that's fine but for the purpose of this story at least it's what happened. We will learn more of what happened to Loki in later chapters. Patience, grasshoppers! Again, the timeline's probably a bit wonky in regards to what's canon but I'm working within the frame of my own story here, and so to quote Comic Loki: "I do what I want!" Thanks soooooo much for reading!!!!


	6. Silent Trust?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter. TRIGGER WARNING potentially for self harm, kind of... Nothing explicit, just use caution. Not sure what else to say about this one... except maybe, since there's more Loki I'm again not sure how in character I've written him. I wrote some drabbles and other snippets of stories before where I felt I captured his character lots better. This one I'm not so sure about... so if anyone feels like telling me their thoughts or has any suggested I'd much appreciate it. Other than that enjoy.

I arrive back in the cellblock nervous and twitchy. I creep down the hallway wondering how I’ll feel when I lay eyes on him. Right now I’m torn between running away and pressing myself to the glass to get as close as I can. Both options are honestly kind of pathetic…

When I arrive at the back of the corridor my eyes zone in on him immediately. He’s sitting on his bunk. Leaned forward, elbows balancing on his knees, loosely clasped hands hanging in the space between his thighs. His head is down but when I tiptoe into view it sweeps up, eyes fixing on me. A soft smile teases the corners of his lips. “I heard you coming.” He says in that soft, melodic voice of his that immediately sends a wave of calm through me and soothes the raging emotions.

I blink at him, my eyes roving all over his relaxed body. I feel none of the fear I expected to feel; instead there’s just peace. It’s tentative, and I suspect it could shatter at any moment, but I know that it won’t be him that shatters it. If it does, it’ll have been me having a freak out…

He tilts his head to one side. “Alright?”

I nod carefully standing in front of his cell like a parcel that was ordered and delivered and then not picked up… I wish he'd come closer and press his hand to the glass again, but he doesn’t. Maybe he only reserves that for when strange girls crumple into pieces right in front of him, unable to breathe, and suffocating on the weight of their own memories…

“Did the glorious Captain escort you back safely?”

I nod.

“I would have done it if I could… but alas… I chose the next best option. I hope that was agreeable with you?”

I nod again. I’m pressing my back into the glass behind me, putting as much distance as I can between me and him. Not because I’m afraid of him but because if I don’t, if I let myself go for even a second, I’ll throw myself against the glass, pressing both hands to it, pleading with him to come closer and give me the comfort he did last night. I’m sure I already seem desperate enough to him and I don’t want to add to that.

His eyes rake me from head to toe. I stand, enduring and gazing back evenly. His perusal isn’t sexual or predatory and so it doesn’t bother me. I know he’s checking for any signs that I lied about being ok. I wonder if he’ll find them… I’m not okay. I haven’t been for the past two years. But in regards to last night, I am. At least as much as can be expected, and more than I could have hoped for under the circumstances.

A strange calculating look comes into his eyes. “You know who I am,” he asks softly.

I swallow, then nod.

“You didn’t last night.”

I shake my head, then shrug asking wordlessly asking how he can tell the difference.

“Last night there were a lot of emotions in your eyes; much turmoil. But none of the heavy knowledge of my past… deeds. I see that there now. And you are standing about as far away from me as you can get.” He says all this softly and gently without a hint of accusation or bitterness in his voice. There is only a solemn acceptance.

“Are you afraid?”

I shake my head.

“You can come closer. I promise you this glass will not break. I can not get out to harm you.”

I shake my head vehemently. I’m not worried that he’ll bust through the glass to hurt me. I don’t think he’ll hurt me either way even if he could break out. Somehow it becomes imperative for me to let him know that it’s not him I’m scared of. It’s me. Me and my own mind and the demons that haunt it.

He leans closer, eyes intently on my face trying to decipher my cryptic motions. He breaks it down. “Are you afraid I will hurt you?”

Shake.

“Are you afraid I may break out?”

Shake.

“Do you believe the glass is sound and will contain me?”

Nod.

“Do you wish it wouldn’t?” There’s a slightly mischievous note in the question.

I shrug.

His grin widens. Then he sobers and asks gently. “Are you afraid of the connection that sparked between us last night and what it meant?”

I blink. Is he saying he felt that too? Shyly I start to nod. Then I change my mind and shrug.

He takes a deep breath. “Do not be afraid to need comfort.” He offers kindly. “We all do from time to time and-" he breaks off when he sees my violently shaking head. “You do not?”

I continue to shake my head, then point to him.

“Me?”

I point to myself.

“You?”

I point towards the hallway door making vague hand motions and shaking my head.

“You do not want to leave?”

I shake my head rapidly. Gah, this is frustrating. If only I could just… no. Even the thought of talking, even to him, makes my throat swell shut even more than it normally is.

I jab my finger at him again.

“Me.” He repeats.

I hold up one hand like we did yesterday though I don’t press it against the glass.

He nods indicating that he understands.

I poke myself in the chest then point back to him to empathize my point and nod. Once more I point to the door then wave my hand randomly, shaking my head.

“I was the only one who has been able to provide you with comfort?” he asks, eyebrows rising high.

Praise Jesus,he gets it! I nod.

He sits back. I think I’ve surprised him. He swipes one hand through his inky black hair looking away from me. When his eyes return to find mine there’s something smoldering in them that I can’t identify. Something hot and heavy and somehow significant. “I am glad.” He says fervently.

I nod. Me too.

Then we just stare at each other for a while. Absently I reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

All of a sudden he surges into motion, rising from his perch on the cot in one fluid move. Faster than my eyes can see and my brain can comprehend, he’s crossed the short amount of space between his bed and the glass divider and is standing right against it, body vibrating with fury, eyes fixed on my face, seething with rage.

I’m frozen against the opposite cell, hand still up by my ear, eyes wide, muscles tensed, heart pounding in my throat.

“What is that?” he spits.

What? I look to either side not finding anything out of the ordinary.

“That?” he jabs a finger at me. “On your palm?”

On my- oh! I lower my hand to look at the four ugly crescent moon shaped scabs that have crusted over the wounds I left last night when I dug my fingernails into my palm.

“Did the man who attacked you last night do that?” His voice is tight and clipped with anger.

I shake my head.

“Someone else?”

I shake my head. Then before he can work himself into even more of a temper on my behalf, I point quickly to myself even though admitting to more of my pathetic fucked up-ness makes colors of humiliation flare up in my cheeks.

“You did it?”

Ashamed I nod, unable to meet his eyes.

“How?”

I hold up my hand and lightly close it into a fist, fitting my nails exactly over the crescent moon scabs.

He frowns. Then he takes a step back. “My deepest apologies for startling you.”

I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart, then nod. Only then does it occur to me that even though he startled me, yes, shocked and surprised me with his volatile reaction, I wasn’t scared. It was the kind of jump scare you get when a friend leaps out at you from behind a wall yelling BLAAAARGH and making a funny face. It wasn’t the kind of scare I get from being touched surprisingly; the kind that makes my insides wither and die, and makes me want to run and hide under my covers never to come out again.

I realize that I must have been lost in my thoughts because when I refocus he’s gazing at me so intensely that I obviously missed a question. I give my head a little shake to clear it then blink up at him, shrugging one shoulder, silently asking him to repeat.

“If I give you some wound cream will you apply it?”

Oh. I shrug. Then I nod. I normally don’t put anything on the scratches when I do break the skin but he’s being so sincere.

He turns and drops to his knees in front of his bed, leaning down to fish something out from underneath it. He pulls out a small, nondescript tin box about half the size of a shoe carton. Flipping it open he takes out a small tube of something. I forcibly restrain myself from craning my neck to catch a glimpse of whatever else may be in there. He’s been nothing but respectful to me; I can extend the same curtesy by not prying into his personal affairs.

He rises, and kicks the lid of the box shut. When he approaches the door again he places the tube on a little tray on his side of the wall right beside where the glass meets the stone. A series of hissing sounds ensue like an airlock tightening, then releasing, and then one of the bricks on the wall beside me flips down, revealing itself to be fake and hiding behind it a second tray that matches the one on his side.

He grins ruefully, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It is the only way to pass anything into and out of my domain.”

I frown in distaste as I pick up the tube. Then I mime eating and point to the tray.

“Yes, they deliver my food to me through here as well.”

How does he manage? It seems really overkill! Is he really that much of a threat?!

Abruptly I remember the scene in Stuttgart. The police car, the armour, the helmet, his yelling, how he tossed Captain America around like a ragdoll…

I look up at him to find him watching me, still leaning against the wall by the glass. I feel a flicker of unease as I see the scene played out again in my head and hear him yelling, ordering the citizens to kneel, his soothing, melodious voice contorted with rage and hatred.

Then as I search his handsome face I’m reminded of how it looked in that other video. The classified one that wasn’t part of what was made public. How gaunt and pale it was. How tired and worn he looked. The shadows beneath his eyes and the shadows within them. No… whatever happened back then… there’s more to the story than what those public videos, and articles, and reports showed. There has to be.

He stands patiently letting me look but again not offering anything. I am struck quite suddenly with the question of whether he would tell me if I asked… I feel like he might… but I’m not sure. And I have no way of asking anyway, even if I wanted to.

“You would do well to stay away from me…” he says softly in answer to the slew of unspoken questions chasing each other through my mind.

I swallow hard. Why is he telling me that? Is this his way of telling me to leave him alone?

“That being said, I do not want you to, and I am glad that you returned, even though I did not expect you to after the good Captain cleared up any misguided illusions you may have had about who I am.”

I shake my head.

He frowns.

I flounder, then raise my arms flexing my nonexistent guns to indicate Captain America.

Loki chuckles. “The Captain did not tell you?”

I nod.

“Then how did you…?”

I mime flipping through book and point to myself.

“You researched?”

I nod.

“And you still came back even after what you must have seen…” he muses to himself, squinting at me, now searching my face for something.

I shrug. He’s wrong, though I have no way of letting him know. I didn’t come back despite what I’d seen. I came back because of it.

When his prolonged search makes me squirm, I distract myself by unscrewing the lid of the tube of ointment and dabbing some of it onto the scabs. Then I take a few minutes to figure out how to send it back to him.

When I again meet his eyes they are gentler, not quite so turbulent, though there is still the residue of something haunted and heavy. “You should go,” he says softly, sending a fissure of panic through me before he adds, “They will be coming to deliver my dinner soon and I do not think you would want to be discovered down here.”

I nod. He’s right. I don’t want that. I don’t want to leave either, but even less than that do I want to be caught in a restricted area and jeopardize not only this strange and fragile source of peace I’ve found, but also my job.

He presses his hand to the glass. Automatically mine comes up to meet it. “You can come back whenever you like.”

I nod, tears pricking my eyes. I force them down. I don’t understand this. Why is he so kind to me? Why am I so accepting of him? And why are these innocuous non-touches so quickly becoming something I’m reliant upon?

Confused, I tear myself away and hurry down the hallway. This time I don’t look back, though I have to consciously stop myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not sure if I'll be able to update tomorrow since I'll be flying halfway around the world and who knows if I'll have free wifi at the airport. And afterwards I may be too tired and go back to bed. But on the other hand I might just edit a whole shitload of future chapters while I'm in the air and have nothing else to do. So then I'll have a whole lot of things to post as soon as I'm home and get over my jetlag. Lol. Anyhoo. See y'all soonest. Thanks for reading!!!


	7. Here Comes the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Nother chapter. Found wifi. Yay me. I'm soooooo looking forward to a ten hour flight squashed into the seat like a sardine in a can. Bleh. Oh well. Unavoidable. I wish I could apparate...  
> Okay back on topic: TRIGGER WARNINGS for this chapter: anxiety attack/panic attack. Rape flashback, maybe kind of sort of graphic but not too much. Use caution as always. Also mild self harm. But also Loki fluff and comfort. And the Beatles. Hope it's okay.

  
A week passes. It passes slowly and quickly at the same time, which would be confusing, but I’m used to time doing strange things where I’m concerned. Sometimes it crawls by so excruciatingly slowly, until each second feels like an hour, each minute feels like a year, and each hour feels like a century. Other times it races by so fast that I have trouble keeping up and before I know it days have passed and I don’t remember what I may have done in the span of the lost time. No, time is not my friend.

In this case it slows to snail’s pace, making the hours I spend at work seem like torture. I pretend to listen to Lucas’s chipper stories, I eat lunch with him and his friends, and I actively avoid running into Agent Brenner who is always somewhere close by.

After work I sneak down to the basement and visit Loki. Every day I’ve gone back, staying varying amounts of time. His dinner gets delivered at 5 on the dot each day so by the time my workday is done and I get down there, no one will be by to potentially disturb us until at 8 in the morning when they bring his breakfast. Or so he says. And it’s held true so far.

We’ve mostly been amicably silent with only a handful of words, all from him of course, exchanged during the hours I spend in front of his cell. It’s comforting being around him if I don’t let myself think about why, how, or what it means. If I do, I begin to doubt. Myself; never him. But he doesn’t see silence as something that needs to be stuffed chock full with meaningless words, spewing them out like a short order cook, as if hoping that just one more redundant sentence will make me finally reply in kind with more redundancy of my own.

And he’s never asked me why. Not once. I keep waiting for him to, but he hasn’t yet. And I don’t think he will. I’ve spent more time with him in the past week than I’ve spent with any single other person over the last two years and he never once asked me why I won’t speak to him.

I’ve heard the rumors circulating through the compound: I’m crazy, stupid, foreign, slow, disfigured. They keep getting more and more creative and absurd the longer they go without answers; feeding off each other’s theories. It doesn’t bother me. There nothing I could do anyway if it did. I think mostly they spawn from the lunchtime crew who, after all, are around me most. I know Lucas for his part, tries to dispel his friends vicious words, but I’m pretty sure they just started talking about me behind his back too. And still I sit with them at lunch, usually not eating, only drinking a bottle of poison-blue Gatorade, because I know it makes Lucas happy. He still asks me questions though, that I can’t answer, each time waiting just a second too long, letting the inevitable silence stretch as he waits for me to fill it with words. When I don’t he takes another hearty bite of his peanut bitter sandwich and keeps right on babbling until he inevitably will try again; sometimes five minutes later, sometimes an hour later, sometimes the next day; but he never gives up his fruitless hope.

But Loki is content in silence. In fact it seems like he prefers it. He is calm, and quiet, and steady, and he does not act like I’m different. He quickly becomes, by far, the best part of my day.

It’s when I’m on my way down to visit the cellblock after work, that Agent Brenner finally manages to do what I’d been so successfully avoiding for the past week and a half now; he catches up to me.

I’m just turning the corner from the lab into the main part of the hallway, when he jumps out of the door to the men’s where he’s apparently been lying in wait to ambush me.

I stumble back, ready to bolt.

“Dammit, Annie. Wait!” he calls sensing my need to escape and grabbing at my arm. I jerk back and manage to avoid him grabbing me. His fingertips still brush my skin though, and I feel bile splash in my mouth. Goosebumps skitter across my skin.

“Listen Annie, I…” he starts, then pushes his hair back off his forehead while he gazes into the middle distance like he’ll find the answer to the meaning of life there. Finally he unclenches his jaw and speaks. “I’m sorry… I wasn’t- I shouldn’t have… done that…”

As far as apologies go that was pretty lame, but I don’t care. I just want him to get it out of his system and go. I suspect this apology is less for me anyways and more to ease his own guilty conscience. I just want him gone. My nerves are jangling, and my skin is crawling at having him anywhere near me.

Unfortunately Dylan seems to smell the same stink of inadequacy in the air because he frowns, then reaches for me again.

Alarm bells blare in my mind and I throw the folder of loose leaf papers I’m holding in his face. Then I turn tail and run. From behind me I hear a muffled curse coupled with more pleas for me to just wait a minute over the fluttering of half a days work sorting research papers fluttering to the floor in a mixed up mess.

I don’t slow. I keep running, aware that he might be chasing me, until I throw myself into a broom closet. There I stand for an indeterminable amount of time, ear pressed to the door, every muscle in my body strung so tight that I’m physically vibrating. My nerves are on fire! Every time footsteps near I feel like I’m about to combust with fear and tension, and when they pass I implode with relief.

Finally I make myself exit the broom closet and go in search of the one thing I know will calm me down right now, though I take care to peek around every corner just in case Agent Douchebag is there.

By the time I reach Loki in the cellblock I’m an absolute mess. The added strain of avoiding anyone and peeking around corners just in case Agent Brenner was waiting around one of them to accost me again, has ratcheted my always present anxiety up several notches. I am jittery and feel like I might jump out of my own skin at the slightest provocation. The screams are sounding in my ears, though not as loud and insistent as they do at other times, but I’m still barely holding on to my sanity by a thread.

Loki sees it immediately when I stumble into view. His teasing smile and call of “You are late…” dies on his lips when he lays eyes on me. I’m sure I look like a ghost, even more so than I normally do. I fall against the glass, pressing my hands against it and the rest of my body too for good measure. He meets me there, his hands coming up against mine, his face and body not quite touching the glass but close - closer than we’ve yet been. His eyes search my clammy face with urgency.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head weakly, leaning my temple against the glass, letting the coolness soothe my feverish skin.

“Was it the same imbecile who attacked you before?”

I nod once and can practically feel Loki’s fury leeching through the barrier that separates us. Oddly though it doesn’t intimidate me the way angry men usually do. Instead it drips into me and calms me, steadies me, and centers me. It gives me something else to focus on that is not the lingering terror both from two years ago and from twenty minutes ago. Anger, huh?! Apparently it helps even when it’s second hand.

It occurs to me then that I’ve never even thought to feel angry about what happened to me; what was done to me. Perhaps that was an oversight on my part. Perhaps I should be. I’ll overthink about that later.

I’m feeling marginally better and saner, so I peel my eyes open to look straight into two emeralds that are sparkling with barely controlled fire. I blink slowly at Loki, hoping to convey that I feel better now and that he doesn’t need to be angry anymore. I watch the storm in his eyes quiet slightly, replaced by concern.

“Did he touch you?”

I remove one hand from the glass and point to my opposite elbow, making grabby motions but then shake me head. I know Loki understands. He’s gotten proficient at deciphering my silent pantomimes.

“But he frightened you?”

I shrug, then, because I know he’ll see easily through the lie, I nod.

God, I’m so sick of being scared. Every move I make, every breath I take, every touch is like inhaling a lungful of nails, like sandpaper rubbing and scraping away my skin until I’m raw and bleeding. Everyday. And then at night, when I should be resting; sleeping, it’s like someone holds live wires to my exposed flesh, zapping me with the pure currents of memories and flashbacks in the form of nightmares that I can’t wake up from. Nightmares in which I scream and scream and then wake up from, with my throat dry and hurting, but unable to utter a sound. Then all day long I build up the walls I tore down at night that keep the memories at bay, laying them down brick by brick always hoping that the entire thing doesn’t come crashing down at my feet and engulf me in flashbacks while I’m awake too. But the wall is only bricks piled on top of one another, no glue or cement to hold them in place. And every once in a while a stiff wind will blow and send the whole thing crashing down on top of me and then I’m right back there. Right back in that rainy night, staring at the whirling, twinkling lights, tasting musty earth and sickly sweet artificial sugar, and hearing the driving bass and shriek of death metal, and malicious, drunk laughter. I’ll feel the raindrops falling down onto my face, slipping into my hair, following the tracks left by my tears; caressing my face with a gentle touch that is so cruelly opposite to the other touches I’m feeling all over my body. I’ll feel my mouth moving and even though I can’t hear it over the death metal, I know that I’m singing _Here Comes_ _the Sun_ over and over again hearing John Lennon’s dulcet tones in my mind, accompanied by the screams that started then and never left, praying that the sun really would hurry up and come.

I’m drawn out of my mind by a sharp thump that vibrates the glass under my cheek. My eyes fly open to meet Loki’s stormy greens, practically nose to nose. They’re wide and there’s worry in them along with something incredulous far, far back. But the overwhelming emotion is desperation.

I blink, disoriented, and he points to my left hand which is curled into a fist, blood seeping slowly out from between my clenched fingers.

I see his mouth moving and realize that he must have shouted at me, but I couldn’t hear him over the screams in my head, necessitating him to hit the glass to get my attention.

I blink hard and shake my head like a wet dog trying to dislodge the screams. It works slowly and I can hear Loki’s voice fading in and out of focus like a badly tuned radio.

“Open… open your hand… Annie… hand… open your hand…”

Oh, right! I force my fingers to unclench and press my palm flat to the glass. It slips a little bit, leaving smears of red behind.

“Are you with me?” he asks, staring intently into my eyes.

I nod.

“Where did you go?”

I start to shake again and he immediately backtracks. “It’s alright. It’s alright. Look at me.”

I blink at him, as he again starts to breathe exaggeratedly slowly. Automatically my own breathing syncs with his. We stay like that until I stop trembling and the screams subside.

“Better?” He asks, and I nod. He makes every motion to turn away, and my fingers again form claws, begging him to stay and keep me anchored, because my hold on my sanity is so loose that if he let’s me go I’ll splinter apart.

“Alright… alright… here… let me just…” he keeps one hand attached to mine while he removes the other one and stretches toward his cot. When his arm doesn’t reach he uses his foot to nudge the tin box out from under it and push it closer to himself. When he can reach he picks it up and brings it up to his chest. He jams it in place and flips it open one handed, then fishes out the tube of ointment and several little circular band aids. He drops the box with a clatter, then stretches over to flip down the little tray, places his bounty on it, then sends it my way. The hiss of the airlock releasing cuts through me like a scalpel.

I fumble for the drop down tray with my free hand and gather up everything he’s sent me. I unscrew the cap of the ointment with my teeth, but then I stand there, lost, holding the open tube. I can’t put this stuff onto my wounds because to do so I’d have to remove my hand from the glass and right now it would be easier for me to detach my entire arm by dislocating my shoulder than it would be to unstick it from where it’s glued to Loki’s palm.

He senses my predicament. “Here…” he offers softly, then presses the entire right side of his body into the glass, bracing his shoulder against mine. I follow suit, leaning back, and find that it helps. I still feel connected, still feel anchored by his solid presence, and so I’m able to peel my hand away from the glass. He leaves his there anyway, showing me that it’ll be here and waiting for me when I need it again.

I quickly wipe the blood off on my shirt, and smear the healing salve onto the scratches before I stick four of the little adhesive circles onto my palm. The end result makes it look like I have latex calluses or something, but it’s functional, and the bleeding has stopped.

I press my palm back against Loki’s, then look up to meet his eyes. Our shoulders are still pressed together and he’s looking down at me, his eyes tender, but still with some strange speculation in them like he’s debating whether to ask me something or not.

Curious as to what he could possibly be wondering, and confident that he would never ask me a question that I won’t be able to answer- not physically but emotionally- I nod at him.

He licks his lips, then slowly let’s his body slide down the glass. Automatically mine follows until we’re both sitting on the floor, leaning sideways against each other with only the thin sheet of Plexiglas between us. Exhausted, I rest my head against it too.

“You were humming…” he says softly.

I draw back in surprise, staring at him. Humming? When?

“Just now. When you were lost to me. Your eyes were far away, and your entire body was shaking. But you were humming this sweet melody. It seemed to ground you and keep you from completely drifting away. It went like this:” he begins to hum in a soothing baritone, a tune that is achingly familiar. “Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm.   
Hm, hm, hm, hm.   
Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm.   
Hm, hm, hm.   
Hmm, hmm, hm.”

My heart constricts as the familiar calming tones of _Here Comes_ _the Sun_ wash over me, made even more calming by the fact that it’s his voice that’s singing them. Strangely enough the song itself doesn’t trigger me even though it is tied so intricately into my memories from _that_ night. Maybe because I was using it to keep me calm; an endeavour which yielded mixed results…

I swallow hard, then nod tightly.

“Is it a good song?”

I nod again.

He smiles. “It sounded very sweet in your honeyed tones.”

I notice that he didn’t say some inane bullshit like ‘it was nice to finally hear your voice for once', or ‘your voice is actually really pretty' and I’m grateful. I point to his mouth then make a continuous circle with my finger. He gets the hint.

“You want me to continue?”

I nod.

He smiles indulgently then begins to hum softly once more.

I lean my head, tired, against the glass again and close my eyes listening to his voice humming the same four bars over and over again, apparently all he’s picked up. But it doesn’t get tiresome or tedious. It smoothes over me, slips inside me and, like the ointment he gave me for my hand, this is like a balm for my soul with which he’s healing me from the inside out. Slowly and gradually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be either posted from the airport or from my home. Ugh, I wish I was home already. I miss my puppy! Anyways, feedback is always appreciated as always and if anyone has any ideas or things they feel would be cute/cool/fun/crazy, comment it to tell me. The story is mostly done but if I'm inspired it's not too late to change things around. And thanks so much for reading!!!


	8. Music and Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that. I can churn out another chapter. Go me! Free airport wifi for the win. Now let's see how much I can edit while in the air. TRIGGER WARNINGS include again mild self harm, panic attacks, rape flashbacks, and maybe could be triggering for eating disorders cause Annie doesn't really eat much. But not because she wants to lose weight, etc. but because she has no appetite. But it could potentially be triggering so the warning is there and please use caution, lovelies! But fluff and cuteness ahead. Enjoy!

  
The next day I once again decide to misappropriate lab resources during my allotted lunch break. I bow out of lunch with my- Lucas’s friends, and plug in the tiny little MP3 Player I requisitioned from J.A.R.V.I.S. last night. The way the compound is set up is that every live-in employee gets points in addition to their monetary salary. These points can be used to redeem things that Mr. Stark makes available. For example food in the cafeteria, or out of the vending machines, as well as certain electronic devices developed by Stark Industries some of which are new and get beta tested this way, others which are of the previous generations of gadgets. Using these points makes it a lot cheaper than using money would, and it’s just one of the things that make Tony Stark the most awesome employer probably ever. I blow practically all of my points on the MP3, and if I ate with any regularity I’d probably be a bit more worried about my next few meals, but either way I consider the purchase well worth it considering what I have planned.  
  
I quickly download the entire Beatles _White_ album, followed by _Rubber Soul, Yellow Submarine,_ and _Abbey Road._ Then I toss some Rolling Stones on there. Some Michael Jackson, Elton John, Pink Floyd, Green Day, and even some Destiny’s Child and Britney Spears just for shits and giggles.

When I’m done I nod, satisfied, then shove the player back into my pocket where it feel like it weighs a ton, but really it’s just the weight of my expectations burning a hole in my pocket.

The rest of the day creeps by and by the time five o’clock _finally_ rolls around I’m bursting with anxiety. And not the bad kind either; the anticipation-al kind!

I hurry down towards the cellblock faster than I’ve ever gone yet. Because I’m hurrying so much, Loki is still eating his dinner when I get there. He looks up when I skid into view, immediately rising to his feet, eyes searching my face for any hint of distress.

I let him see that there is none today, and he visibly relaxes. Still, he leaves his plate of food and comes over, offering me his hand. I smile and press mine to his for a second then point to his plate indicating that he should keep eating.

He retrieves his meal then sits down cross legged in front of the glass. I mirror him on the other side. His dinner is the same kind of vegetable stew with meat and chunky potatoes that they were serving in the cafeteria at lunch. It makes me glad somehow, in a way that I didn’t realize I needed to be glad, that he’s being given the same good quality food that we all are, instead of stale bread and water, or stereotypical mystery meat slop, or something equally disgusting and nutrition-lacking that some might say is what prisoners deserve.

He sees me eyeing his plate and holds it up. “Did you want some?”

I shake my head. Food and I still don’t agree too much. I haven’t eaten yet today and I don’t know if I’ll be able to stuff down dinner. It’s nauseating, even though the food itself is delicious. I know I need to eat more but I just can’t seem to make myself.

He frowns, lowering the plate and leans forward slightly, studying me intensely in that way he has that makes me think he can see right into my soul.

“Have you eaten today?” he asks.

I drop my head, ashamed, as I shake it. I know it does no good to lie to him, having attempted it a few times before. He could always tell, and eventually he informed me of his God of Lies title. After that I stopped trying.

He sighs, then shovels a few more forkfuls into his mouth before he rises and heads over to the dropdown tray. He places the plate on it and sends it over to me. Automatically I go to retrieve it then sit with it in my lap staring at the few bites he’s left for me like the potatoes are gonna jump up and eat me instead of the other way around.

“You take the fork, fill it, and place it in your mouth. Chew and swallow. Repeat.” He instructs gently with a soft laugh in his voice.

I shoot him a look which makes him chuckle. “Please.” He cajoles.

I can’t deny him, I just can’t. Besides it’s been forever since someone actually asked anything of me, even something as simple as taking a few bites of cold, soggy vegetables soaked in congealing gravy. Most people seem to think I’ll shatter like cheap candy glass if they make requests of me.

I pick up the fork and spear a cube of potato. I sit staring at the yellow wedge for a ridiculously long time. It will not kill me. Potatoes rarely cause death! Finally I overcome myself and shove the thing into my mouth. After that hurdle is overcome, it becomes easier and I polish off the whole plate in minutes. It really wasn’t much at all, but since my stomach was so glaringly empty, just those few bites leave me feeling full. Though not too full. I marvel briefly at the fact that Loki seemed to guess pretty much exactly the amount of food I’d be able to handle, before I remember why I came down here in such a hurry in the first place.

I rise up and pull the MP3 Player out of my pants pocket, holding it up for him to see.

He tilts his head in interest. “What is this?”

In answer I press play. I’d pre-set the song earlier, and as soon as my fingers hit the button the soft strains of _Here Comes the Sun_ fill the space between us, spiralling down the corridor.

Loki’s eyes widen with recognition before a soft and tender smile stretches his lips. “Your song.” He says simply.

I nod.

We listen to the entirety of the Beatles discography that I loaded onto the MP3, sitting back to back with the thin sheet of glass between us. When _Here Comes_ _the Sun_ starts again, indicating that we’ve cycled through all the songs, I straighten. Quickly I slip the MP3 into the tray which is still on my side and send it back over to his.

“For me?” he asks, retrieving the gift.

I nod then point down at the device. He looks down at it, frowns for a second, then his face lights up with understanding. I know what he’s seeing: A random playlist I made for him that is less about the songs themselves and more about their titles. A message:  
**_So_** by WAR  
**_You_** by Chris Young  
**_Don’t_** by Elvis Presley  
**_Feel_** by Duff McKagan  
_**Bored to Death**_ by blink-182  
**_Anymore_** by Frank Turner

His fingers close protectively around the player. “Thank you!” he says sincerely and, I’m probably imagining it, but I could swear his eyes look shiny. “It will most certainly relieve my constant boredom!”

I smile swiftly, then, because I’m feeling slightly overwhelmed, I wave hurriedly then hightail it out of there.

I awake that night with terror hot in my throat but cold in my belly and Loki’s voice in my head. I heard him in my dream. Screaming. Screams like the ones I hear when I’m awake. But these were not muted or muffled. They were loud and full of fear, agony, despair. Expressing exactly how I feel inside.

My body is wracked by shivers, and clammy with sweat. My hands are clenched into fists, my nails prevented from breaking the scabbed skin of my left hand only by the fact that I’m gripping my blanket. My shirt is stuck to me like cling wrap. I swipe my messy tumble of hair off my face and sit up. It’s not enough. The dream clutches onto me, shadows swirling along the edges of my mind, taunting me, letting me know that they will pounce anew if I even attempt to go back to sleep. I swing my legs out of bed and pace. I gulp down some water from the glass on my nightstand. When I place it back down my eyes land on the digital clock. 4:27 in the morning.

I can’t go back to sleep. The nightmare still haunts me. This isn’t a new occurrence though; I wake up most nights at around this time; give or take an hour. Sometimes I’ll stay in my room, reading or working, other times I’ll wander. Today the air feels heavy and thick so I shove my legs into my jeans, grab my ID and head out the door, forgoing the shoes.

It’s drafty in the corridors at night and I shiver, but I don’t mind it because the cold air cools my overheated body down and dries the sticky sweat on my face. I don’t pay attention to where I’m heading until I realize where my subconscious has led me with a jolt, as I see the familiar heavy duty steel door. Of course my subconscious would lead me here. The nightmares were pulling at me and he keeps me from going under.

I press my palms against the metal and lean my forehead against it too, somehow feeling close to him just from this meager contact. It works for a while, then the memories start intruding again and my chest begins to feel achy and tight once more as the trembles resume. I’d heard him in my sleep, his voice so full of pain and terror, and I want to hear him again now, speaking calmly and soothingly, so I can convince myself that he’s alright. That **_I_** am!

My eyes land on my left fist which is curled too tightly, the stabbing pains emanating from it indicating that I’m in the process of tearing through the scabs again.

_Anytime._ His voice echoes in my head. He’d called the word after me yesterday when I left, sensing my reluctance at leaving him; knowing that I needed him and couldn’t hide it.

Before I can change my mind, think better of it, quell this sudden surge of selfishness, I throw open the heavy door and slip inside hurrying with light steps down the hallway, my bare feet pitter-pattering over the smooth stone floor.

It’s dark but a sliver of moonlight falls through the window in Loki’s cell, illuminating it just enough to show me him lying on his cot, arms folded behind his head. I assume that he’s sleeping but when I press my face to the glass two silvery green orbs suddenly glow from the semi darkness.

I jerk back slightly, instinctively frightened by the predatory, animalistic reflection of the light in his eyes. It’s like those of a cat!

He rises swiftly and comes to me, the glow dying down to become less intense the closer he gets. Immediately and without question he presses both his palms to the glass, meeting mine. His freaky but fascinating eyes search my face and I get the impression that, also like a cat, he can see much better than I can in the dark.

The silhouettes of his shoulders rise and fall slowly, as he breathes for me.

He knows just what to do; just how to calm me down. He’s done it enough; its second nature by now, so when I surge forward, pressing my entire body from head to toe flat against the glass, I can feel his surprise. He reciprocates after a beat, curving his tall, elegant body in such a way that he’s curled around where I’m smashed against the glass, bracketing me. We stay like that until I’ve stopped shaking and just a little longer. Loki’s thumbs rub rhythmically over the glass against my palms, and with my ear pressed so tightly to the barrier right against his chest I can hear him breathing slow and steady.

When I’m ready, I peel my cheek off the glass and look up at his face shimmering pale and translucent in the moonlight. He hasn’t spoken yet, and even though I feel the burning sting of hypocrisy I reach up and tap the glass by his lips lightly, seeing him suck in a sharp breath at the action.

But still he doesn’t speak, eyes waiting as he searches mine. I sigh in frustration which only makes the spot between his brows wrinkle in confusion.

I half consider telling him; just opening my mouth and asking for what I need. I go as far as to let my lips fall open, and almost gag on the funnel of screams roaring up my throat.

Screwing my eyes shut and breathing through my nose, I forcibly swallow down the taste of bile, dirt and aspartame. When my eyes open he’s watching me carefully, forehead leaning against the glass. I reach up and tap the space beside his mouth again, gesturing with my fingers like something is coming out of my own, tap my ear, urging him to understand what it is I need.

“You would like for me to talk to you?”

I nod wildly, feeling oddly self conscious.

He nods then sinks down, leaning sideways against the glass. I copy him, folding my arms around my bent legs, hugging my knees tightly to my chest, watching him.

He leans his temple against the glass. “I was listening to your music when you came in…” he speaks to the ceiling. “I turned it off when I heard the door since I did not know who it might be and I did not want the device discovered and taken from me.”

I wonder idly what song he was listening to.

He reads my mind. “No, I shan’t tell you which song it was. It would be too humiliating.”

He grins as I shoot him a look. Then his face grows somber again. “You frightened me.” He says softly. “I knew it was you the moment I heard the cadence of your footsteps running down the way. I was unsure if you would come when you needed, and when you did…” he pauses, pressing his palm momentarily flat against the glass. Mine comes up automatically to meet it. “I am glad you did!” he finishes earnestly. Then he pauses as if something just occurred to him, and removes his hand from the glass, bending forward to stare intently at my palm which remains pressed against it. “Did you..?”

I shake my head, tilting my hand so he can see that there is no fresh blood.

“Good.” He says proudly, placing his palm back against mine. “Good.”

A moment of silence ensues as he turns his head slightly, eyes fixed on the tiny patch of sky he can see outside the itty-bitty barred window over his cot. “I miss the stars,” he says wistfully. “When I was young my mother used to take me up onto the highest tower of our castle and sit with me looking up at the millions and millions of stars, pointing out all the constellations and telling me the stories that went with each one. It was incredible, like a tapestry in the sky. It amazes me sometimes to think that the stars we looked at there are the same ones as I can see here. What little I can see of them…”

I press myself closer to the glass as if that will somehow offer comfort.

He turns to look down at me. “May I ask you something?”

I nod.

“What is your age?”

I bite my lip, looking around helplessly, before I settle on simply drawing the number onto the glass at his eye level.

“Twenty?”

I nod. I wonder if he will ask, will wonder why a twenty year old is so im-proficient at life that she can’t even speak, seems so childish that she runs and hides behind the legs of her protector at the slightest signs of trouble. I have no idea how I’d explain it to him, the fact that all my life I’ve been out of step with kids my age. I’ve always been ahead of them, mental development wise. In college by age ten, on the path to get my doctorate by age 15. Then I wonder how I’ll explain the hospitals, and the specialists, and the investigation, and the therapists, and the trial, and the institution, and the year I'd lost to all of it. I wonder how I’ll articulate the fact that suddenly, after years of feeling older and more mature than my peers, I suddenly felt younger, dumber, like a newborn baby, raw and vulnerable in a new world, a different environment than the safe, ordered one I was used to.

But he doesn’t ask, simply shifts so he’s lying down on his side, palm still flat against mine. His other hand pats the ground in front of him, inviting me to lie down too. I do, pillowing my head on my arm. He braces his chin on his fist and continues to look down at me. “So what is your favorite color?” he asks.

I smile surprised yet again at how easily he can shift my emotions around from jittery anxious to wryly amused in barely a few seconds.

“Allow me to guess: Blue?”

I shake my head.

“Red?”

Shake.

“Green?”

I’m still for too long, my body tensing, as my mind spins out into a whirling myriad of rainbow colors spinning and blurring behind my lids.

He speaks softly. “Annie?”

I make a conscious effort to shake off the memory though I feel the shadows licking at the cusp of my conscience. I push my head up to mirror his position, then tug down my lower eyelid using my other hand to point to the outer edge of my eye.

“Silver? No. White? White.” He settles down satisfied at having gotten his answer, while I take undue pleasure in the fact that he said silver instead of simple, plain old gray.

He continues on in this vein, revealing little bits of information about himself, occasionally asking me questions and guessing at my answers. He learns very little else about me but I pick up a few precious nuggets. I learn that his favourite color is green, that as a child he had a pet snake, that he has always struggled to come up to par to his father’s high expectations of him, especially when compared to his brother, that his mother taught him magic as a way for him to shine in his own way, that he loves to ride, loves to read, he thinks poetry is one of the few things us Midgardians got right, and he dislikes heights.

“So your favorite color is white, you like tea, you love the works of the poet and playwright William Shakespeare, as I do, and your favourite season is winter. Even though it appears as if you do not own even a single warm pair of socks!” he says, grinning as he throws a look down at my bare feet, the toes of which are curled into my soles in a meager attempt to glean some warmth.

I smile and shrug slightly.

We stay in our respective positions until over his shoulder I see the sky outside slowly begin to lighten. It goes from pitch black to a pale buttery yellow to a subdued lacy looking pink to a dazzling bright orange and finally to a fresh and vibrant early morning blue. I wish I could reach out a hand and push the sun back down below the horizon.

He rises slowly and I push up with him, immediately missing the strangely intimate closeness. I want to stay here forever, I want to forget that the outside world exists and just go on feeling as safe and protected as I do whenever I’m near him.

He looks at me apologetically. “They will be here soon to deliver my breakfast.”

I nod. I know he’s right. I need to get ready for work as well. Slowly I push to my feet my body achy and numb, my bones creaky from spending half the night in the same position. I press both my palms to the glass and he reciprocates, going one step further pressing his forehead to the divide. I push up on my toes slightly so I can reach, my eyes sliding closed as I wish, not for the first time, that the barrier between us would vanish and I could actually touch him skin to skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now updates may be slowing down some because I'll be back home and I'll have to go back to work and adult responsibilities and yadda yadda yadda. But the story's still largely complete, just editing and updates will probably happen every two days. Depending on how much the kiddies are trying to kill me it might be more, but you'll never have to wait longer than a week for an update. I promise you! I hope you're still likin' it, and it'll pick up some soon, in regards to Loki and Annie's individual stories. Lemme know if y'all ever think it's too slow or it gets boring or whatever. Thanks for reading!!!!


	9. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING!!! As the chapter title already suggests there will be explicit mentions of self harm, specifically cutting, in this chapter, as well as old healed scars. Other than that it's the usual tentative warnings.  
> We get a bit of comfort the other way today, with Annie being there for Loki to lean on just a bit which (I think) changes the pace some. More of that will be coming up in the future as well. Other than that there's a bit more communication between the two which was great to write. Hope you like. And it's kinda a short chapter but I couldnt find a good cut-off point that made sense and I didn't want the chapter to be too long either...

I come back later. Of course I do. Forgone conclusion!

When I arrive he’s already standing at the glass waiting for me. My hands automatically find their way to his. “Alright?”

I nod. My day was surprisingly good. Lucas didn’t ask me too many questions today, so I didn’t spend as much time feeling stunted and insignificant as I usually do.

“Did you eat?”

I frown. Did I? I must have… I know I didn’t at lunch but I never do, although Lucas, ever the gentleman, offered me half of his peanut butter sandwich. But breakfast? I did, didn’t I?! _Did_ I? I don’t remember.

I look up at him helplessly. He gazes at me reprovingly then nods resigned and turns away, pulling an apple from beneath his pillow. He sends it my way via airlock tray and I go to retrieve it. My fingers stroke over the smooth, shiny red skin before I raise it to my mouth and take a small bite. The rich, juicy flavour of apple explodes in my mouth and I savour it, even as I drop the now bitten fruit back in the tray and send it back to him.

He gives me a long look, then retrieves the apple without breaking eye contact and takes a bite of it from the opposite side. The hearty crunch ratchets up my own appetite and makes me want another bite of my own.

He sends the apple back to me.

And so we eat, finishing off the entire thing between us, sending the apple back and forth in a convoluted game of hot potato. When only the core remains, Loki tosses it into a small metal bucket that serves as his trash bin.

“Better?”

I nod. I do feel better than before even though I didn’t realize that I needed to feel better… but my stomach isn't churning so much anymore and my head is clearer.

“May I ask you something?”

I nod, once again trusting him to not ask a wrong question that will send me spiralling out of control.

“Do you have any more?”

I frown. Any more what? Apples? Then I realize he’s pointing to my palm and the crusting scabs that decorate it. I stare down at my hand trying to see what he sees. The little half moon wounds are crusty, the scabs ugly and dried black. The skin around each little wound is pink and irritated looking. My nails are short and dull; they don’t leave clean cuts. I blink up at him confused by what he’s asking of me.

“Do you have wounds like this, that you inflicted on yourself, anywhere else on your body?” he asks gently.

And I get it. He thinks I’m a cutter; that I routinely take a razor blade to my skin; that I hurt myself on purpose. The idea doesn’t repulse me or shock me like it probably should, but I know that I wouldn’t have it in me anyway. Picking up a razor blade takes forethought. Premeditation. It’s planned. Whenever I do this, it just… happens. When the screaming gets too loud, the memories too insistent, it just happens. Most of the time I don’t even notice that my nails are digging into my skin until the skin’s already broken. I do welcome the pain then because it beats back the shadows however slightly, but no, I’ve never taken a blade to myself on purpose, never even considered it.

“Annie?” he asks softly and I blink at him wondering _why?_ Why does he want to know so badly? He’s already seen me at my worst; beyond my worst. What difference does it make?

Unless… he’s already seen he panic attacks, the crying, the falling apart and splintering; what if he’s searching for something else, something even worse, something truly macabre that will give him reason to push me away? To say ‘nope that’s too fucked up even for me to deal with?’ Oh God, what if that’s it?

I take a step back, my hand immediately closing into a fist, not digging my nails in, just hiding the evidence from his all too perceptive eyes.

“Wait,” he calls, seeing me close off, sensing that I’m about to bolt like a scared little bunny rabbit. He reaches out and I flinch back even though I know he can’t touch me. His eyes are wide as he pulls back, hands out, palms forward, fingers splayed to show he means me no harm. He backs up a step too, eyes fixed to mine, holding me in place even as my body vibrates with the need to run away from the truth.

Lightning quick he pulls his loose black prison shirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it uncaringly aside.

My eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of my skull as I cringe back into the glass wall of the cell opposite his. To say I’m shocked is a gross understatement.

He just stands, bare chested, watching me, gauging my reaction. “Look.” He commands, which is crazy since that’s all I’m doing. A part of my brain screeches that I should be afraid of him standing there in only those loose, black canvas drawstring pants riding low on his hips, and his torso bared, letting me see the width of his shoulders, the strength of his chest, the lines of slim yet powerful muscles in his arms, the tightness of his abs; visual proof that he could easily overpower me. But I’m not afraid. Even as logic catches up and reminds me that he can’t get to me even if he wanted to, I realize that I was never truly afraid of that in the first place.

Then I notice something else, something that has me stepping closer to the glass once more, squinting. There are scars on his arms. Scars that run all the way from his wrists up to his shoulders. They are thin and pale, paler even than the rest of his skin. Spidery lines running up his inner forearm, then outwards over his biceps. All parallel, all spaced evenly apart, all the exact same length, one column, spreading into two as his arms grow wider above the crook of his elbow. Both arms match. I’d wager that there’s the exact number of scars on each arm. And they were clearly made with something a lot sharper than fingernails.

“I was not attempting to insult you,” he says softly, just letting me look, holding his arms out in front of him wrists together so I can see. “I only wished to make certain that your life was not in any imminent danger.”

Well, he can rest easy then. My life isn’t in danger. It was already taken from me.

I step closer against the glass again, fingertips resting lightly on it, then look up at him, a question in my eyes.

He interprets it correctly. “No, they no longer hurt.”

Somehow I doubt that, at the very least I’m sure there’s emotional pain still tied to these, but I don’t question him. His hands flip over, fingertips pressing to mine. “Annie?”

I shake my head.

He ducks down, attempting to catch my gaze. I meet his eyes then point to my palm, gesture to the test of my body, and shake my head, indicating that, no, I do not have any more self inflicted wounds.

He blows out a slow breath. “Alright.”

Then because I’m starting to notice how low those pants hang on his hips, the fact that there appears to be no evidence whatsoever of any kind of underwear beneath them, and that my eyes fixate on that little trail of hair that disappears into his waistband which is absolutely none of my business, I jab a finger at his balled up shirt then point to him, ordering him wordlessly to put his damn shirt back on.

“I wish I could ask you what thoughts were in your head.” He says nonchalantly as his head pops up out of the neck of his shirt.

His off-hand statement reminds me of the other thing I brought and I hold up a finger and reach to dig the tiny little notepad and even tinier pen out of my back pocket.

A slow smile stretches his face when he sees it. “Now why did we not think of that before?”

I shrug. I _have_ thought of it before. It just always seemed wrong to bring it. I’m not entirely sure why.

I brace the note pad against the glass and lean into it to scribble, then I flip it around so he can see what I wrote. _Do you ever get lonely?_

  
_“That_ is what you ask?” he pauses. Then, “No, not really. I have always been lonely in a way. Even when surrounded by people. Somehow this eternal solitude is peaceful to me. Though it used to get tedious.”

_Used to?_

“Not since you started visiting.” His eyes are soft and tender.

This surprises me. But still I can help but frown and chew my lip, throwing covert glances around the barren little room. I can’t believe that he never gets lonely…

“Don’t.” he says softly, misinterpreting my sadness for doubt. “You do not have to be afraid of me.”

I exhale a huff of mirthless laughter. You _wouldn’t say that if you knew how I felt about you._

“What do you mean?”

I pause, pen poised above the paper considering how much to tell him, how much else I want to lay bare for him, how many more of my vulnerabilities to expose. I feel the weight of his eyes on me as I write slowly. _I feel safe with you._

There’s such a long stretch of silence after I flip the paper around for him to see, that I wonder if he’s suddenly, sporadically lost his ability to read. I peek up at him, heat in my cheeks, to find his eyes on my face instead of my written words.

“Then you are the only one.” His voice is distant, his shoulders tight, jaw locked. After a few seconds he relaxes.

_Do you not have anything? Books? Personal belongings?_

“I have the small tin in which I keep those band aids I’ve stocked up for you,” he winks, “It also holds a few personal belongings, but other than that no. They say I do not deserve the _amenities!”_ His voice is even, without infliction of bitterness, but I can sense something behind the statement. Maybe it’s regret. “I suppose I am lucky that I get blankets and a pillow with my bed, or that I get a bed at all.”

I sink down to the floor and he follows suit, settling across from me. _What would you read if you could have any book right now?_

“What? Norns... Anything? I am so starved for literature it is a challenge to not beg you to fill every last page of that little notebook with words. And not only because I like that this opens up communications between us a bit more.”

_But specifically? Fiction? Non-fiction? Fantasy? Action? Mystery? Romance? Are you a history buff?_

“Midgardian history? I think not?”

_It’s surprisingly interesting. If repetitive._

“Most civilization’s histories are repetitive. It seems that all beings are wired to repeat self destructive patterns.”

_Don’t I know it._

He smiles sadly. “Come here.” He waves me closer, leaning his side against the glass. I lean into him letting my head rest against his shoulder. He rests his atop mine. My eyes slide closed and before I can consciously stop myself I slip into sleep.

“Annie? Annie, love. It’s time to wake up.” The soft, soothing voice directly beside my ear rouses me. I blink rapidly, then reach up to rub the sleep from my eyes, glancing around disoriented. Loki’s face comes into focus right beside me. “I apologize for waking you. But the sun is coming up.”

My eyes immediately fly to the window over his cot. It’s true! The sky outside is lighting. Have I been here the whole night? Sleeping? Uninterrupted by nightmares?

I look at him, eyes wide. His own are warm, tranquil; his smile serene. “Thank you.”

I tilt my head in question.

“For helping me sleep.”

Oh. Well, ditto. There wasn’t a single nightmare cleaving my sleep in two and waking me up with screams clawing their way out of my throat. And still I wonder just how much more those hours of sleep are than he normally gets? He was awake before me, after all.

I fumble for my pen and pad then scribble quickly. _How long have you been awake?_

“Not long. Barely an hour. I was watching you sleep. I do hope you do not think me out of place for it?”

I shake my head. It doesn’t bother me. In a way it makes me feel protected like he’s watching over me as I sleep. It’s a nice feeling.

“Will you be alright?”

I nod. A lie. Always a lie. But at least for the moment I don’t think I’ll shatter. Though the hours stretching ahead of me now before I can see him again seem endless. Which is ridiculous, of course, since I just spent the entire night with him. But still…

“Will you be back later?”

I nod.

“Do you promise?

Nod.

He smiles. “Shall I save you some dinner?”

I shake my head forcefully, pointing at him.

“I do not need food as urgently as you humans do. He explains gently.

My mind snags on this fact for a second. It’s too easy to forget that he’s not actually human; he looks too much like one. But still, the signs are there when I think about it. They’re subtle, like in the graceful way he moves, in the unearthly fragile, yet hard beauty of his face, the green of his eyes, and his gentle manner that so clearly hides a core of pure, unparalleled strength.

I shrug, then rise to my feet my muscles and joints complaining loudly after having been curled up tight all night.

I place both hands against the glass, and Loki rises to meet me. Only one of his hands presses to mine though, the other moves up to softly caress the glass right where my cheek is. His eyes are deep and tender.

Before I dissolve into a puddle and decide to blow off my work responsibilities, I tear my self away and run out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking at the time now I might still have time to edit another chapter, so you wont be left with this short little one... I still have an hour and a half before I have to get up; curse you, jetlag!!! We shall see if I manage, since the next chapter will definetly be longer and a lot of stuff happens. It'll be up either within the next hour-ish or later tonight though... thanks for reading. And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, especially pertaining to how I'm doing with Loki and his character, because I'm still not all to sure that I'm writing him in character enough... ❤


	10. Books and Bad Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yas. Finished, just in time. I'm literally on my way out the door. Jetlag may suck but it's good for my editing motivations. TRIGGER WARNINGS here are for nightmares, panic attacks, flashbacks, self harm, and physical abuse. This is a heavy chapter so use a lot of caution and stay safe.  
> Additional notes: I'm really happy that I got to write some Tony in this one, especially him being understanding, because I want Annie to have other people supporting her besides just Loki, and I want her to learn to trust these other people too. Eventually.  
> I totally imposed my own tastes in literature on Loki, but I also somehow thought he'd enjoy Game of Thrones... Also Hamlet is a little nod to Tom Hiddleston, reknown Shakespeare enthusiast.  
> Lastly, as promised there was a lot more of Annie comforting Loki in this one which I really liked because so far it's mostly only been the other way around. But I want them to be there for each other, to both help the other, and we're moving a bit more towards that now.  
> Hope you like.

I arrive at the lab only about an hour later, freshly showered and changed, my braid still dripping down my back, to discover that Lucas isn’t here today. Out sick.

It throws me. He’s become so much a part of my routine with his ceaseless chatter, that the absence of it feel like an earth shaking problem. I’m a creature of habit now; a routine junkie, anything out of the ordinary shakes me up. Spontaneity used to be a must for me. Not anymore!

I can feel myself start to reel at the prospect of spending the first half of my day without Lucas. My fist clenches. Not tight, not ripping, just holding; feeling. I want Loki. I want his centering presence to reassure myself that the world has not drastically changed, that my life will not spiral out of control completely all because of this minor change in my daily itinerary. It won’t. But I can’t go to him because I’m a work. And I can’t freak out now. Because I’m at work. I’m at work! Anyone could walk in at any second and see me falling apart. I am at work! Hold it together!

Slow screams start in my head. I feel the slam of my own pulse thumping through my body, and feel my tongue swelling to fill my hot and dry mouth. My chest is tight, like my ribcage is getting crushed in a vice, and I screw my eyes shut, fists clenching tighter, willing this not to happen!

I want to beat the walls until my knuckles are mince. I want to scream until I’m gargling blood. I want to rip and scratch at my face until only the bleached bones of my skull remain. I want to claw my own eyeballs out to stop the pictures of spinning whirling lights, but I know it won’t make a difference because the pictures are behind my eyes anyway. It terrifies me. I never wanted to scream before; to make myself heard. Not since that night. Not until Loki.

Black spots bloom in front of my vision and I drop to my butt on the pale green linoleum floor, shoving my head between my knees, fingers clenching in my damp hair.

God _damn_ it!

This is how Tony Stark finds me: curled in a ball on the floor in his lab, clutching at myself to keep myself together.

Employee of the month. Yeah, that’s me. Not!

“Annie?”

Through a film of tears I watch him crouch down in front of me, though a respectful distance away. “Everything alright?”

For a genius he asks remarkably stupid questions.

The genius seems to realize this as well because he backtracks. “Okay, that was a dumb thing to say. Obviously you’re not. Can I do anything? Get you anything?”

Yes. You can get me the highly volatile, maximum security prisoner you have locked up in your Lecter-esque dungeon, because he happens to be the only thing that calms me down enough to function when I get like this. Otherwise the panic attack will just have to run its course which could take hours. But I know that that’s not a possibility, so I shake my head.

Mr. Stark rises and gets me some water anyway. He sets it down right beside me making sure not to move to fast. “Do you want to go to the hospital wing?”

I shake my head wildly. No. God, no. I’ve had my fill of hospitals. They have nothing that can help me.

“Okay. Do you want me to leave?”

I consider. I don’t feel threatened beyond the instinctive level with Mr. Stark here. Maybe if he talks he’ll be able to draw me out of this funk. And he doesn’t seem to be judging me for my breakdown in the middle of the work day. I shake my head. He settles down leaning his back against a lab table. “Do you get these often? Panic attacks?”

I shrug. Define often, I want to say but don’t for obvious reasons.

“I get ‘em too.”

That makes me look up. He’s smiling at me wistfully. “Ever since the wormhole two years ago.”

Yes, the wormhole that Loki made to bring his alien friends from whatever planet they hailed from, to Earth. I remember reading about it not too long ago when I delved into Loki’s history with the Avengers.

I blink at him, then fumble for my notepad. It takes me a lot longer to scribble the six little words because my hand is shaking so badly, and when I slide the notepad over to him I wonder if he’ll even be able to read what I wrote.

He squints for a few seconds, deciphering my chicken scratches. “How do I deal with them?”

I nod.

He sighs. “I don’t know… I wish I had an answer for you, kiddo. It’s different every time, and sometimes I don’t deal well at all. Usually I keep busy but I guess that’s not always an option…” he says, gesturing to me curled up in the fetal position and unable to move from it to even think about getting any work done.

“Do you know what triggered it?” he asks sliding my notepad back over to me.

My hand starts to shake again as I remember why I broke down in the first place and how stupid the reason is. _Lucas._

“Karasu? Did he try something? Did he hurt you?” Mr. Stark asks sitting up straighter, immediately on the alert.

I shake my head vehemently not wanting Lucas to get into any trouble.

Mr. Stark visibly relaxes. “What did he do?”

_Nothing. He’s not here._

Mr. Stark looks confused. Then realization dawns. “You got used to him being here and it’s knocked your whole day out of whack that he’s not?”

I gape at him. He gets it!

He shrugs. “I used to be super anal about routine too, and if something changed unexpectedly I’d flip my lid. That was before I became Ironman back when my life had some semblance of order.” He chuckles.

My lips curve ever so slightly.

“There’s a smile.”

Mr. Stark stays sitting with me until I’m able to unscrew my limbs. When I nod at him indicating that I’m alright and pull myself to my feet using the lab table next to me, he also rises.

I reach for one of the folders on the table. As I pull it towards me to start working Mr. Stark pulls it back.

“What are you doing, kiddo? You’re not gonna work today.”

I look up at him, eyes wide.

“It’s alright. Take the day off. You need it.”

_But I’m not sick, sir._

“Mental health is just as important as physical health, kiddo. You’ve had a rough start to your day. So take it off and rest. Get better. Come back tomorrow. It’s fine.”

Get better… how?

But I’ll take this opportunity. I mean, as recently as a few weeks ago I would have argued against getting the day off, wanting work to distract me. But now... now I just want to get back to what lets me breathe. Or rather who…

I don’t immediately go to him. Mr. Stark insists on accompanying me back to my room and then I stay there, pacing agitatedly in case he’s waiting to see if I’ll come out, waiting to catch me in an act to get a sick day. Which is stupid and paranoid because he’d seem the evidence right before his eyes, and if anyone could act a panic attack that well they’d deserve a damn Oscar.

I calm down a bit more in the space of time I spend pacing; enough to become even more paranoid and decide that I’ve got to be looking ridiculously desperate to Loki, slinking into his domain at all hours of the day like a bedraggled cat or a beaten puppy. God, he’s probably sick of me by now.

So I tell myself I wont go down until after 5. I make it to 1:30. I attempt a series of tasks to distract myself but somehow all my thoughts and actions turn back to Loki. As I’m making my way down toward the cellblock I can feel the tight knot in my chest loosening more and more with every step I take that brings me closer to him. I’m so pathetic.

I creep into view in front of his cell to find him alert and sitting on the bed, looking in my direction anticipating me. “You are early.”

I nod.

“Did something happen?”

I don’t really want to explain it again so I just nod, then shrug.

“Why did you not come back sooner?” he asks, obviously seeing that I’ve calmed down somewhat and that the worst has passed.

I fumble for my notepad. _I was at work._

He frowns. “Does your work trigger your episodes?”

I shake my head. _Not usually._

“But then why are you early?”

See? He doesn’t want me here. He’s wondering why he’s losing three and a half hours of time spent free from my suffocating presence. _Mr. Stark gave me the day off._

“Aah, the Man of Iron.” He says with a slightly mocking lilt in his voice.

 _I can go and come back later if you want some time alone._ I write, noticing that he also hasn’t approached me yet to offer me his palms.

He does so as he reads my words. “Why would I want alone time? I have had more than my fair share of it in the past two years.”

I press one hand gratefully to his as I write. _I thought you preferred being alone?_

“I do.”

Oh. My hand drops.

“Until you.”

I look up. He wiggles his fingers against the glass, silently inviting me to put my hand back. I do.

_I’m sorry._

“Whatever for?”

_I didn’t mean to need you this much. I never planned for it to go this far…_

His eyes become tender as his free hand comes up, fingertips grazing over the glass by my cheek. “I am not complaining.” He leans back, his green eyes roving all over my face, flitting from one random feature to the next.

_What are you looking for?_

“Answers.”

 _You can ask._ I write shakily even as my insides quiver in fear.

He shakes his head. “You will tell me when you are ready. In any case I did not only mean answers about you…” His eyes are strange; unguarded, but uncertain.

I stop trying to decipher his cryptic statement and change the subject to one that feels safer with less potential to send me into another tailspin. _I brought you something._

“Oh? I like gifts.”

 _Not gifts. More… on loan._ And I pull out the plastic bag filled with books I’d stashed by the wall earlier, where he couldn’t see.

His eyes widen, then shine with joyous, disbelieving light when I hold it open to show him the five books inside. “Where did you plunder those from?”

I laugh soundlessly. _The library._

I head over to the tray and send the books over to him one by one, smiling at how he stands impatient on the other side looking ready to tear the entire airlock apart if it doesn’t spit out his books _right now!_ His excitement is rubbing off on me, making me bounce on the balls of my feet in anticipation as he reads the titles. I’ve brought him _The Great Gatsby, Hamlet, The Hobbit,_ the first installment off the _A Song of Ice and Fire_ series, and a nonfiction history book on Genghis Khan.

He looks up at me, his eyes still glowing. “Thank you!”

_I didn’t know what you liked. You never did tell me, so I brought some samples of my favourite genres. I’ve always been partial to fantasy adventures._

“It is perfect. Though now part of me wants you to leave so I may begin reading. I am joking… I’m joking…” he says quickly when he sees my eyes become unsure. “My apologies, that jest was in very bad taste. Please stay. I do not want you to leave, even for all the books in the world.”

And so I stay. We talk about books for a while, and then he reads, while I lean against the glass against his shoulder just soaking up his proximity, letting it soothe my frayed nerves. I duck out for a few minutes, around five o’clock so I don’t get caught by whoever delivers his dinner. I don’t go far though, hiding out in the next hallway down, which also houses cells, though these ones have bars on them, instead of inch thick Lexan.

When I return he again shares his dinner with me, getting me to polish off the last few bites and sharing another apple by passing it back and forth through the airlock. After we finish that he sits looking at me.

Something is off, he is fidgety and seems nervous and I frown at him. _What’s wrong?_ I ask via notepad.

He sighs. “You see right through me…”

It’s only fair, I think, since he sees right into me.

“I am tired.” He says softly.

Oh. I start to stand up to go so he can get some rest.

“No. Damn it, Annie. I am not asking you to leave.” He blows out a heavy breath. “I want to ask if you would spend the night here again, because I feel I will collapse at any second and perhaps if you are close I will be able to gain some sleep like I did last night. But to do so would be monumentally selfish! I cannot ask you to sleep on the floor when I am sure you would much rather be in your own warm and comfortable bed…”

He says all this incredibly fast and looking anywhere but at me. I realize then that something else must have happened today. While I was gone. The idea occurs to me that maybe I wasn’t the only one who had a panic attack today. I gaze at him so intensely that he looks away flustered when he catches me looking.

“You can ask.” He whispers softly, repeating my words from earlier, though he says them out loud.

This basically confirms my theory but I give him the same space he gave me earlier. _You’ll tell me when you’re ready._

He heaves a heavy sigh. “I do not know if I will ever be ready.”

_Me neither._

He smiles at me sadly. “What a dysfunctional couple we are.”

I only shrug, my mind snagging on the word couple and running wild with it. He didn’t mean it like that! He didn’t. He meant couple as in a couple of people, not a _couple_ couple.

To distract my wayward thoughts I lie down sideways on the floor, pressing my fingertips to the glass. Loki smiles and lies down too.

“Is this alright?” he asks.

I nod. It’s more than alright.

“Does she wind up being Queen?”

I frown. Who? What?

He taps the book he was reading earlier. _A Game of Thrones_ “Of the Seven Kingdoms? Daenerys?”

Oh. I shrug. _He never finished writing the series._

“I beg your pardon?!”

_I know, right?!_

“You brought me a book, hoping that I would get hooked on its stories, while knowing full well that there was no conclusion?”

_Suffer like the rest of us plebeians!_

He huffs out an exasperated breath, and I grin. I almost laugh out loud. The sound bubbles up my throat and only at the last second do I clench down on it, trapping it within me. What the hell is wrong with me?! I can’t let it out!

I shift around slightly, disturbed by my lack of control around him. Loki is simply watching me, and so I watch him back.

I don’t know at what point exactly my waking watch slips into a dream but I become aware of it when his face begins to change right in front of me. His cheeks hollow, his skin becomes grey, and pale, and shiny with sweat. His eyes sink into his skull and become bloodshot with dark purple smudges beneath them. His lips become dry and cracked. Then bruises start to bloom under his skin, one of his eyes swells shut and cuts and lacerations slash across his eyebrows, split his lips, and lay open one of his cheeks down to the bone. His eyes become crazed and wild, like those of an animal in pain; in agony. His mouth stretches wide as blood spills from the yawing cavity and a scream of inhuman anguish and terror rips out of him.

I claw my way out of the nightmare, feeling the horror he must have experienced mingle with the horror that lives in my own heart in the most poignant, profound, and terrible way. I fight to find my way out of the maze of my subconscious, wanting nothing more than to silence the godawful, ear splitting screaming in my head.

And then my stomach lurches and I wrench myself upright because, dear God, the screams aren’t in my head this time. They’re pouring out of Loki’s mouth, where he lies on the floor in front of me behind the glass wall, body twisting and writhing grotesquely, back arching up of the floor, fists hitting out randomly and tearing at his clothes, his hair, his face, his skin. And still those screams, those guttural sounds of utter torture and terror, shred themselves from his ravaged throat.

I rise up onto my knees, banging the glass hard, harder. My lips form his name and I want to shout it, want to, _need_ to, to draw him out of his nightmare but I can’t; I _can’t!_ His name gets stuck sideways in my throat and all I can do is keep beating at the glass hoping that the thumping will break through, that he'll feel the vibrations.

Endless minutes later it seems, his body suddenly sags, collapsing limply to the ground like a bag of water. He’s still asleep, I think, because his eyes are still closed and his breathing is fast and jerky. His hands twitch randomly and his eyeballs move restlessly behind his lids. Still trapped in a nightmare, but of a different sort.

I redouble my efforts to wake him, now punching the glass as hard as I can. I feel my knuckles split with the force of my blows but I don’t care. And it pays off. His eyes snap open, wild and disoriented. He focuses on me where I’m now slapping the glass with the flat of my palms still mouthing his name.

He sits up, looking around himself quickly, as if to ascertain that he is safe from whatever caused him that violent nightmare. He pushes sweaty black hair off his forehead, and collapses forward against the glass.

I copy him, falling against him; the one providing the strength for once. I can hear him sobbing softly, his shoulders shaking over his bowed head. My hands stroke and pet the glass tirelessly as I wish fervently that I could be soothing him directly.

Eventually he takes a deep breath then straightens up to look at me. His eyes still glisten though his face is dry, salty tracks is still visible on his cheeks. I remember suddenly, vividly, how his face just looked, brutalized by torture, contorted by fear and agony, and I shudder violently.

“Are you alright?”

I nod.

“I am so sorry.” He says voice cracking.

I shake my head vehemently. He has _nothing_ to apologize for!

His face is still pale, though not nearly as ashy as it had appeared in my dream. His eyes are haunted like he’s seen a ghost. Which he has, I realize. A ghost of his past. He’s plagued by them too, like I am.

I fumble for the notepad. _How can I help you right now?_

He just looks back at me helplessly. “I don’t know…” he whispers in a tiny voice, pressing his hand to the glass. I hold mine against it, imagining my support and what meager strength I posses flowing from my palm into his.

_Do you get nightmares like that often?_

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

His eyes drop to look at my hand and he freezes. He sits up straighter eyes flying to mine. “You _are_ hurt!”

I look at my hand too, noticing for the first time that my knuckles are split in several places, and there is blood smeared on the glass where I punched it.

Loki is already in motion hunting together the healing ointment. He stares for a second in dismay at the tiny circular Band-Aids then in short order tears a strip of fabric off his shirt. He sends the mess of supplies my way along with a glass of water to wash the wounds with.

He watches me take care of the injury with frustration in his eyes, and I know he wants to help me, partly because I’m struggling to tie the makeshift bandage with one hand, having to resort to using my teeth to knot it, and partly because he feels responsible for my damaged hand. Which he’s not!

 _I had to wake you!_ I write to explain. _I didn’t know what else to do. ~~I tried~~ I couldn’t scream. I wanted to call your name but I couldn’t… I’m sorry!_

“Don’t…” he says softly. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. I… thank you… for trying. I… I would not blame you if you want to leave now!”

He looks so miserable that I want to smash through the barrier and curl up in his lap like a kitten just to show him that I don’t want to leave. That I won’t leave! Since I can’t do that I simply lie down on my side again. After a beat he stretches out beside me again, so cautiously slowly it breaks my heart.

I draw my knees up, curling into a ball, my fingertips resting lightly against his.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks, his voice vulnerable.

I shake my head. Then I hold up the notepad to show him a question I wrote earlier, but then chickened out before showing him. _When you cut yourself, did it help?_

He sucks in a deep fast breath. “Yes.” He answers simply and brutally honest.

_Why did you stop?_

“I was beginning to build up a tolerance.”

_When did you start?_

“Shortly after I was locked up in here.”

_When did you stop?_

“About six months ago.”

I study him, debating whether to ask the next question.

He senses my hesitation. “Just ask.”

_How did it help?_

“It made certain things… certain memories… easier to bear.”

I know all about what that feels like! _I can’t talk._

“I know.”

 _No. I mean I can’t!_ I underline the last word with a dark slash. My hand shakes and the lines squiggles a little. _I can’t let myself!_

“It’s alright.”

I shake my head. No, it’s not. It’s not alright because before I met him I was content to not talk; to never talk again. Before I met him I hadn’t uttered a sound in two years. Now I’ve already hummed melodies to him, been on the verge of casually answering him multiple times, almost laughed out loud at his jokes, been ready to scream aloud along with his tormented voice in my head, and wished I could shout his name to draw him out of his own night terrors. And I need the silence. I need it to survive. Trouble is, I think I may need him more and I don’t know what to do with that.

He must see the conflicting emotions racing across my face because he leans into the glass, pressing both his palms to it. “You can spend the rest of your life not speaking to me and it would not bother me, but I must ask you to promise me one thing!”

_What?_

“Promise.”

_I can’t unless you tell me._

He sighs. “Promise me that you will come to me whenever you need to. Do not, for even a single second, think that you are being a burden to me, or a pain, or an annoyance. You are not, nor have you ever been, nor will you ever be. But please come find me. That is what I am here for now!”

His voice is open and pleading, while at the same time stern and uncompromising.

I nod.

“Promise!”

I flip to a new page in my notebook, even though the current one has lots of room left. I write large; two words, diagonally across the new sheet, then I tear the whole thing out, fold it in half, and slip it into the dropdown tray, sending it over to him. He retrieves it, unfolds it, and reads my message.

_**I promise!** _

“Good!” he refold the note in half then keeps folding it into fourths, then sixteenths and then reaches behind him to tuck it under his pillow. “I shall hold you to it!”

_I wish there was a way for you to let me know when you needed me, so I could be there for you too!_

His smile is wistful and sad and it makes him look old, older than he appears, much older and more world weary. “You always come when I need you.”

We lapse into silence, as I mull over what he just said.

He’s the one to break the silence of course. “I meant what I said, you know?!”

I look up.

“You do not ever have to speak to me. I shall never pressure you. That being said I have, of course, sometimes imagined what it might be like to hear your voice, what your laughter would sound like, how you might say my name…” he trails off.

His offhand comment hits close to home, especially considering how close I almost just was to screaming his name. I look away slightly embarrassed and flustered, which is a new feeling for me. Fear, pain, anger, apathy- all are familiar. But embarrassment, gratitude, compassion… need. Those are all new.

Loki reaches behind him and picks up the book, then begins to read. I drop my head onto my arm and listen to the gore-y stories of the Starks, the Lannisters, and the Targaryans that I am all too familiar with, as they hack and stab at each other, chop off heads, burn people alive, and raise dragons, all in the bid for a poky chair made of iron. I don’t so much hear the story itself, but more the sound of his voice, the easy confidence in it, the cadence of the low rumble, the smooth velvet slide of that subtle sophisticated British accent. It’s comforting and it lulls me slowly back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was quite a long chapter, at least for my standards, but I hope it was okay. There was so much going on that I had a lot of trouble coming up with a title. I suck at naming things wether they be whole stories or just individual chapters. Everything I come up with usually sounds super cheesy. Lol. Oh well. Hope the chapter itself was better than the title. Update probably tomorrow and psst, mini spoiler alert: there may be just a little bit of conflict coming up. Not too much yet though.  
> Feedback is appreciated, bla bla bla.  
> Thank you so much for reading!!!!!


	11. Touch Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: talk of suicide, panic attacks, amd as always the underlying theme of a past rape.  
> For some reason this chapter feels really short to me, even though it's quite long. I have literally no concept of this stuff even when there's a word count. I'm weird.  
> We get some more of some of the other Avengers, which was fun to write. I know Tony seems a little bit asshat-ish in this but in my mind he's just trying to look out for Annie, and he's worried but doesn't know how to articulate it. He'll redeem himself soon enough.  
> Also Annie's love of the Beatles and Loki's liking of Man in the Mirror are again me forcing my own personal tastes on them. Lol.  
> Hope you'll like the new chapter!

The next day I’m headed to work with a alight spring in my step that hasn’t been there for over two years now. It may have had something to do with the fact that when I woke up again, after experiencing no more nightmares I might add, Loki was still sitting and reading aloud to me. It was obvious that he had gotten no more sleep, but when I expressed worry, he assured me that it was fine, that he’d already gotten way more than he was used to in the last two nights, than he normally gets in an entire week.

Before I’d left to avoid the poor sap who had to bring him his breakfast, he’d waved me over and sent something my way. When the trey opened I felt a lump rising in my throat. It was a single tea bag. Earl gray infused with lemon.

“I want you to drink that before work today. And eat something if you can, but if you cannot then only drink this.” He’d ordered with gently concerned command in his voice.

I’d nodded wildly, scooped up the tea bag and then got out of there before I started blubbering over a bunch of soon to be soggy leaves.

I’d made the tea and it was delicious. I managed to scarf down half of a granola bar, stuffing the other half in my pocket for later, and I have to admit, it does feel better starting my day with something of substance in my belly, no matter how little. Plus the hot tea has left my insides all warm and glow-y. At least I tell myself it’s the tea. Not Loki. No, no. I’m not getting _that_ dependent on him. I can’t be! Right?

I enter the lab and am selfishly relieved to see Lucas already here, but also unselfishly glad that he’s feeling better. I wave to him with a tiny smile and see his jaw drop for a second. As far as greetings go that was downright enthusiastic and cheerful for me. Usually I just barely nod.

I’m just sliding my arms into the sleeves of my lab coat when J.A.R.V.I.S.’s smooth automated voice pipes through the room: “Ms. Ellis, Mr. Stark has requested to see you in his office immediately.”

I freeze, one arm only half in my lab coat.

“Oooh, someone’s in troooouuuublllllle…” Lucas sing-songs, nudging me playfully with his shoulder.

An electric current zaps through me from the point where our shoulders connect, and I jump away from him, my entire body prickling nastily with aftershocks like there’s ants crawling all over me.

I stare wide eyed at Lucas who’s backing away with his hands up by his shoulders and babbling, probably some inane apology but I can’t hear him over the buzzing in my ears. He has no idea how close he hit to home. _Am_ I in trouble? _Did_ Mr. Stark discover that I left my room again last night right after he brought me back there to recuperate? _Does_ he think I faked my panic attack to get out of work and go goof off somewhere?

With shaking legs I turn and make my way to his office. On the way it occurs to me completely out of the blue that J.A.R.V.I.S. didn’t tell me what room number Mr. Stark’s office is or even which floor. Because I already know? I do, but how would the A.I. know that?

I stop mid stride. J.A.R.V.I.S. sees everything. He hears everything. He’s everywhere. Has he been seeing me wandering the halls at night and therefore deduced that I would know where Mr. Starks office is? And more importantly, has he been seeing me sneaking off to the cellblock nearly every day? Recently, multiple times a day? Maybe I’m in trouble for a whole different reason than I thought…?

Faster than I would have wished, I arrive in front of Mr. Stark’s office. I knock, then slink inside when I’m told to enter. I stop in the doorway, staring wide eyed at the three men inside: Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers, and Thor. All looking gravely serious.

Automatically I take a step back, pressing myself against the closed door behind me, aware all at once of how tall they all are and how much muscle and strength they all share between them. Coupled with the way they’re looking at me, it kicks my heart into overdrive and sends my nails digging straight into my palms.

As one, their faces soften when they see my obvious fright. Captain Rogers pushes a chair over to me. “It’s alright Annie. We won’t hurt you. Why don’t you sit right over there by the door and we’ll stay over her. Will that help?

I gulp. Not really, but I plunk my ass down in the chair anyway. Captain Rogers and Thor both sit down in the chairs by Mr. Stark’s desk, swinging them around to face me, while Mr. Stark himself rises from his office chair, comes around his desk and then leans against it.

I blink at them all.

Mr. Stark begins. “Last night at approximately 3am a silent alarm in the cellblocks was triggered.”

I go cold.

“I’ve purposefully rigged up the alarms down there so that when a prisoner starts freaking out, if he or she is not in imminent threat of breaking out, the alarm doesn’t blare the whole house down. Instead it triggers an alert in the morning that I then see. If the prisoner’s freak out lasts for more than five minutes, a colorless, odorless knockout gas is piped into their cell, putting them to sleep. That gas was never dispensed last night. Can you think of why that would be?”

I look down at my knees. Because Loki’s nightmare induced freak out didn’t last longer than five minutes. Because I’d woken him. My brain is momentarily distracted by the fact that it seemed _waaaaay_ longer than five minutes that he was under, but apparently that was the same distortion of time I’ve so often felt before.

I look up again. Mr. Stark is holding his phone, projecting a hologram into the air. It’s the security footage from the cellblock. It’s filmed from the top left corner of Loki’s cell, and it clearly shows the whole interior of the little room, with no blind spots whatsoever, and the hallway beyond the glass. I am in clear focus. I watch myself banging on the glass to wake up Loki who is writhing and twisting on the floor like mad. Even though there is no sound his screams still echo sickeningly in my mind, and my stomach twists at the memory and at seeing this again.

He wakes up. His back is to the camera but you can still clearly see him crawling over to me, our hands meeting against the glass. Him crying. Me trying to comfort.

I look away from how terribly intimate this looks. The hologram blips out of existence.

“Imagine my surprise when I saw you on that footage. And then imagine how much more surprised I was when I went back through the footage of the past few weeks. Every day you’ve been to see him, Annie. Every day. Nights too. What were you _thinking?”_

I shrug. I wasn’t thinking, that’s just it. Or at least I wasn’t overthinking which is what thinking translates to for me nowadays. But if I _was_ thinking, then I was thinking that he helps me. I was thinking that he keeps me grounded. I was thinking that he quiets the screaming in my head long enough for me _to think._ I was thinking that without him I’d still be the same emotionless shell I’ve been for two years now, and that I don’t ever want to stop feeling how he makes me feel. And so I go back day after day. And I’ve only just begun to believe that maybe, just maybe, he needs me as much as I need him. But that’s probably just a wishful illusion. If course I don’t say any of this out loud. I don’t even write it, though I can feel my notepad and pen in my back pocket. They would never understand. So I just shrug.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous he is, Annie? Even behind that bulletproof glass? For god’s sakes the guy’s a psychopath!” Mr. Stark keeps ranting.

My head begins to shake at the word dangerous and keeps right on shaking.

“Oh, you don’t think he’s dangerous?! Do you know what he did in Stuttgart? In New York?”

I give tiny nods, cringing down in my chair at his raised voice.

“So how can you say he isn’t dangerous? Why would you have ever sought him our in the first place? Why would you keep going back there? How could you be so _stupid,_ Annie?”

“Alright, Tony, Tony, Tony… let’s take it down a notch.” Captain America jumps up and puts two hands on Mr. Stark’s shoulders.

“For God’s sake Steve, how can you say that? Look at her. What if something had happened to her? You know how manipulative Reindeer Games is!”

“And I told you, Tony, that he isn’t like that with her. I think he helps her.”

“Oh, come on, Cap!”

While the two men argue I look back down at my knees shoulders creeping up to my ears. Stinging in my left palm lets me know that I’ve broken through the scabs again. I think of Loki’s disapproval, and of how he told me to go to him instead if making myself bleed, but I can’t very well do that now. I think Mr. Stark would have an aneurism if I got up and went to the cellblock now.

While Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers continue to argue in the background, Thor slides off his chair and comes to kneel before me. I push back into my seat, eyes wide. He holds up two huge hands and speaks softly, “You did not know my brother before you came here, is this true?”

His… oh, right. Of course. His brother. That’s why Thor’s here. I’d wondered. I shake my head shyly.

Thor looks at me thoughtfully. “You helped him. I saw so on the Man of Iron's magical screen. He was in turmoil and you calmed him down. He sought you out. Why did you do that?”

I stare at him openly, the words crowding on my tongue yet making no move to come past my lips. But I want to tell him. I can see that he is in pain, that the things his brother did haunt him. I want to tell him about Loki’s pain, about how it’s becoming increasingly clear to me that what happened two years ago was not through Loki’s hand. Or at least that his hand was forced. I want to tell Thor about the scars, about the nightmare, the haunted faraway look Loki sometimes gets in his eyes. I want to tell him how when I, myself, am hovering on the precipice of insanity I can hear his brother’s agonized screaming in my mind. But I don’t. Because I can’t. And because Loki’s secrets aren’t mine to share.

Thor looks up at me, his shoulders slumping discouraged. The wilting of that strong, broad frame undoes me and I dig for my notepad. _I’m sorry._

“Why do you apologize?” he frowns, reading my hastily scribbled words.

_Because I can’t tell you what you want to hear._

He looks away from me, then glances over his shoulder where the other two are still arguing animatedly. “Is it true what the Captain of the Americas says? Does my brother help you?”

_Yes._

“And you know of his past crimes?”

_Yes. Keyword: past!_

Thor frowns thoughtfully at my underlined word. “Did you seek him out?”

_No. I stumbled across him by accident._

“If I may interject, sir…” J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice suddenly loudly interrupts the two separate conversations going on on opposite sides of the room; one blaringly loud, the other quiet and glaringly one sided in volume

“What?” Mr. Stark barks.

“You seem to be arguing against the point, sir, that Loki helps Ms. Ellis, citing reasons of manipulation for self gain.”

“Yea. So?”

“While I cannot speak to Loki’s motivations I can speak to Ms. Ellis’s health. Her panic attacks have lessened by 17% since she began to visit the prisoner. The average length of them has decreased by 58% and when one factors in the attacks she experienced when she is around him, or goes to seek him out immediately after one starts, they lessen in length and severity by 94%. Her average resting heartbeat is also significantly lower, and her levels of concentration and productivity are up and rise whenever she goes to work after visiting him.”

I stare blankly up at the ceiling where I imagine the A.I. to live. I’m not even too bothered or creeped out by the fact that J.A.R.V.I.S. knows my resting heartbeat and can somehow manage my panic attack stats. I’m amazed by the numbers he’s spouting. If that’s true then Loki is much more impactful than I’d even realized. And it is true, I reflect. My panic attacks are less and they dissipate so much faster when I’m around him. My eyes fly to Mr. Stark. He's glaring at me. I blink back intimidated.

“Come on, Tony. Admit it. Loki is helping Annie. He’s not out to trick her. I don’t understand it either, but, for whatever reason, these two seem to have found a kinship. And if it helps Annie… you said it yourself you wished there was something you could do to help her. Well, there is… don’t take it away from her.”

Mr. Stark looks at Captain Rogers. “I don’t want her to get hurt. I don’t want you to get hurt any worse, kiddo.” He says turning to me.

I shake my head and write. I can’t get hurt any worse than I already was. But what I write is this: _He won’t hurt me._

“How do you know?”

_I just do._

“That’s not good enough, kiddo.”

“Tony,” Captain Rogers interrupts. “you saw how he is with her. And you heard what I said about the one time I saw then together. Loki is not a danger to Annie.”

“Yea, about that, Cap. I can’t believe you saw her go down there and you didn’t think to mention it. Just let her continue to skip merrily down to see a psychopathic killer who’s locked up for good reason!”

“Because I saw no reason to be worried, Tony. But don’t you accuse me for one second of not caring about Annie’s safety. I routinely checked the feeds to make sure that she was safe. I asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to alert me when she went down and then kept an eye on them to make sure she was alright. And I never saw anything that rang alarm bells with me.”

I jerk in surprise. Captain Rogers has been watching? I don’t know how to feel about that.

He throws an apologetic glance my way. “I’m sorry, Annie, I wasn’t spying or trying to intrude. There’s no sound on the security footage. I only wanted to ensure that you were safe. And the more I saw, the less often I checked. I believe you when you say that Loki won’t hurt you.”

I nod gratefully. It’s a relief to know that even though he saw us he didn’t hear us, and I can’t really blame him for wanting to keep me safe. It’s not his fault that I’m not safe, no matter where I go or who I see. Even if I was in a cell with Ted freakin' Bundy himself. Because it’s not what’s out there that’s a threat to me anymore. It’s what’s in my head. And I can’t get away from that no matter what. But that’s not Captain America’s fault.

“Listen, Tony, if you forbid her from going back there and bar her security code from letting her into the cellblocks, then I’ll give her my card so she can get in." Captain Rogers says simply.

Mr. Stark glowers. “That’s how it is, huh?”

“Yea, that’s how it is.” Captain Rogers replies obstinately.

“If I may offer my own opinion,” Thor speaks up rising to his full, considerable height, towering over me. I wince. He steps away from me. “I do not believe my brother to be a threat to this young one. I have seen the moving pictures on your magic screen, Stark, and I have seen how Loki behaves with her. I have not seen him act thusly since we were children. I know my brother. He will not harm her.”

“Oh, you know your brother, huh, Pointbreak?! Did you also know that he was gonna go on a murder spree through New York with a bunch of aliens in tow?” Mr. Stark asks angrily.

Thor inclines his head. “I did not know he was alive. I believed him to have died after he jumped from the Bifrost with the obvious intent to take his own life. I do not know what happened to him in the years in which he was lost in the Ether. But something changed him. The man who attacked your New York was not the brother I knew. The man who spends time with Annie is.” Thor steps behind me and drops a heavy hand on my shoulder. Everything within me quivers, but I endure it because he’s on my side. Besides my mind is reeling from what Thor just said. Loki tried to kill himself?!

Mr. Stark pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Fine!” he grinds out. “Fine. Since you’re all so keen on having Annie be a sacrificial lamb to the loony lion, she can keep seeing him. But don’t you come crying to me when he eventually breaks you.” He points an angry finger at me, then at everyone else. “Any of you!”

I nod in agreement, relief spreading through me in a tingling rush. Mr. Stark isn’t going to rescind my security clearance. He isn’t firing me. And he’s going to let me keep seeing Loki. I can tell he’s not happy about the concession. But I understand it. And I don’t feel resentful against him for being so vehemently opposed to my seeing Loki. I understand that too. Loki is the indirect reason why Mr. Stark gets his panic attacks; Mr. Stark almost died with a nuke strapped to his back because of Loki’s actions; of course he’s going to feel stronger than the rest of them about him. Except for maybe Hawkeye who was under Loki’s control. I haven’t actually met Mr. Barton yet but I shudder to think how he’d react to my friendship with the guy who stole his free will…

I put the thoughts from my mind scribbling on my notepad a note for Mr. Stark: _Thank you!_

“Yea, yea,” he says grumpily. “Get outta here. Back to work.”

I scramble up, not wanting to piss him off any further, especially since I already missed most of the day yesterday.

“I’ll walk you down.” Captain Rogers decides, moving to hold the door open for me.

I wave to Thor who waves merrily, back then I slip out, Captain Rogers falling into step beside me.

“Are you okay, Annie?” he asks softly, once we’re out of earshot of Mr. Stark’s office.

I nod.

“I hope you don’t mind my spying on you-"

I interrupt him with my shaking head, then slow down so I can write. _It wasn’t spying. You were concerned. I get it._

“I was concerned, but I’m not anymore. Loki won’t harm you. I believe that. Will he extend that courtesy to anyone else? I don’t know. But he won’t hurt you. And I’ll keep defending that point of view to Tony until he sees it too.”

_Thank you, Captain Rogers!_

“Steve, please. I hope you won’t think less of Tony. He’s just looking out for you, and he hasn’t had as much time as I have to get used to the fact that Loki is different with you. Tony only ever knew him as the evil megalomaniac that tried to subjugate humanity. Thor knew him as his brother before, and I saw him with you after. But Tony will come around.”

_I hope so. I don’t want to antagonize my boss._

Steve chuckles. “Don’t worry about that. He’s not gonna fire you. You’re his little protégé. Just yesterday he told me that he was planning to pick your brain about some scientific theories that made no sense to me. That’s why he went to find you yesterday and instead you were… well, you know…”

Oh. That’s why Mr. Stark came to the lab. Not some random inspection or whatever. The idea gives me pause and I spend the rest of the way mulling this over. Will Mr. Stark still want to talk shop with me after today? I hope so. It would be incredible to be able to pick _his_ brain. I was a huge fan of his before… still am now, on the rare occasions I’m able to muster up enthusiasm about things. It was one of the reasons I took this job, other than of course not having to clean up puke and pee and poo anymore…

Steve draws me out of my reverie by asking gently, “Will you be alright?”

I blink. We’re standing in front of the lab. How long have we been here? I can see Lucas inside hunched over a microscope trying to be nonchalant and subtle about watching us. He is not succeeding.

I nod. _Thank you. For everything!_ I write again.

Steve waves an airy hand. “No need. Thank me by getting better.”

I swallow. I don’t know if that’s possible.

Steve smiles sadly. “I don’t know the details of what happened to you, Annie, only what’s in your file, so I can’t give you specific advice, and I haven’t been through a thing close to what you have. And I’m not saying the circumstances were anything close to the same but I do know what it’s like to have people do things to your body that drastically change you. I know what it’s like to lose the thing that's most precious to you. And I know what it’s like to wake up one morning and have the entire world around you changed completely, forever. It takes time to adjust. It takes time to get past it. And memories never really leave, but they do dull with time and won’t be so painful anymore.”

I look up at him with tears burning in my eyes. Its what everyone says: ‘give it time, Annie.’ ‘It just takes some time, Annie.’ ‘Time heals all wounds, Annie.’ Does it though? Not in my experience. It’s been two years and I still feel just as raw and bleeding as I did when I first woke up in that field behind the fair ground. Except when I’m with Loki…

But I do comprehend that Steve has some manner of experience to draw from, and traumatic events in his own past; he fought Nazis in active war zones, for corn’s sake! So somehow I believe him. I don’t think things will get truly better for me anytime soon. But… maybe someday. Maybe.

I smile tightly, then turn and flee into the lab. God, I have a shitty habit of just leaving him standing around. I need to break that already.

Next time!

As soon as the lab door closes behind me, Lucas is on his feet. Not so subtle after all! Concern etches his features, so I can’t really feel resentful about his obvious eavesdropping. “You alright, Annie-Bananie?”

I nod, because really, I am. I mean as much alright as I can ever be. Even though my nerves still jangle with the thought that I could have lost my privilege to see the one thing that let’s me breathe; was probably _this_ close, the relief is still stronger, underlined by some kind of weirdly giddy feeling. Could it be happiness?

The day passes quickly and slowly all at once. I go to lunch with Lucas and instead of sitting with my head down, trying to blend in with the table like I usually do, I watch the conversation around me. The ebb and flow of the river of their of friendship. I am not included in the bubble of course but they don’t force me out of it either. I obviously don’t speak, but Lucas, seeing that I’m more attentive today makes sure, in between bites of his customary peanut butter sandwich, to direct the occasional question my way and ensures with a level of commitment I did not know he possessed, that they are all questions I can answer by nodding or shaking my head. His girlfriend, Emma is really sweet too, which surprises me. She’d always come across as crabby and grouchy to me, and I’d written it off as her being annoyed at the amount of time I spent alone in a lab with her boyfriend, and that she probably thought I was after her man. But I realize now that it was likely my silence coupled with my generally standoffish behaviour that kept her at a distance. Not everyone is a literal ray of sunshine like Lucas.

I actually whip out my notepad and write to her a little bit and she steals my pen and makes cutesy little doodles in the margins of my papers. She actually wrings a smile from me twice.

All in all, by the time lunch ends I feel better than I have in a long time, excluding any time I spent with Loki. It feels strangely good to be reminded of what having friends feels like. Or what it could feel like, since I’ll need to put in a lot of work if I want to be counted in their friend group. One lunch hour of less isolated behaviour isn’t going to give me a free pass. It’s exhausting just thinking about the effort it’ll take, and I can’t say for sure that I’ll still be willing to put it in once this strangely optimistic feeling subsides again… guess I can only wait and see. _Give it time,_ as people would say.

When the day ends I grab a quick shower before I head to the cellblock. I also bring my pillow since I plan to spend the night again if Loki is okay with it. I know it may seem presumptuous to already take my pillow, and I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t still feeling so bouncy, but I am, and so I decide to take advantage of this weird confidence while it still lasts.

But when I arrive in front of Loki’s cell it is empty. I stare dumbfounded. It’s bare. The bed is stripped to its skeleton, not even a mattress remaining, and there is no sign that the cell was ever occupied.

Panic ties my throat shut and crushes my chest. Is this Mr. Stark’s way of solving the problem? He conceded to let me keep coming down here but he removes what he still sees as a threat? No. Nonono!

Screams start in my head as the hallway spins around me. My fists clench as I try to think. What do I do? What do I do? I fall forward against the glass, my hands scrabbling as if this will make Loki appear and press his hands to mine to calm me. What am I going to do? Where is he? No! No! Why?

My forehead begins to rhythmically thunk against the glass as I try to shake the screams from my ears and think clearly. I need to think. I need to get a handle on myself so I can find him. Christ, Annie, get a grip!

But I can’t. I can’t! I can’t breathe and the one thing that would help me, the one person who can untie this knot my lungs are in, isn’t here, is gone, is lost to me somewhere, has been spirited away in an ironic attempt to keep me safe from him. And now the absence of him is killing me. I can’t fucking breathe!

Dimly, through Loki’s screams echoing in my head, I hear the heavy door banging open and then running footsteps. Something grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me backwards away from the glass which I’m still beating my head against. Panicked, I spin, thrashing in the arms of whoever holds me.

Steve comes into view. “Annie, Annie, stop. _Stop!_ It’s alright.”

I shake my head wildly, tears coursing down my face as I jab my finger wildly at the empty cell behind me.

“They moved him. He’s fine. He’s next door. Cellblock B. One hallway over. He’s fine. He's still here.”

I stare with wide eyes, screams echoing, blood dripping from my clenched fist, my forehead throbbing, breathing too fast, too shallow.

“Come on.” Steve leads me with quick steps out of the cell block. I stumble after him. He takes me to the door right next to the one I usually go through and swipes his card. “He’s down there. Same cell as in A.”

I trip past him, running. I barely register the door falling shut behind me, don’t really notice the hallway I’m sprinting down; that it’s the one I once hid in, the one with bars instead of glass; don’t comprehend what that means until I reach Loki’s new cell and slam myself against those bars, arms squeezing through them, hands reaching for him.

He’s there. He looks as torn up as I do. He rises immediately from his cot and comes to me. Only when I feel it, feel his hands enclosing mine, skin to skin, does it hit me with the force of a cannon blast what this means.

I still can’t articulate it though, to him or in my own head, and so I just grasp at him, fingers clutching his so tightly that I fear I may break them. But he clutches back just as tightly, coming close to press right up against the bars, like me, bending down so that his forehead rests right over mine, still not quite touching because the bars are in the way but closer, infinitely closer than with an unbreakable sheet of Lexan between us.

My breathing still won’t slow though, and he takes my hands, forcibly unfurls my fingers from their strangle hold, and places my palms flat against his chest breathing exaggeratedly slow. My fingers curve slightly beneath where he’s holding them to him with his own larger hands, my fingernails digging into his pectorals as I try to hold on to him. I never want to let go, now that I’ve finally been given the chance to hold on to him.

“Breathe with me.” He whispers and I can see that his eyes are closed where his forehead is bowed against the bars. “It’s alright. I am here. You are here. We’re alright. Breathe, love.”

The word _love_ slips into the ragged hole in my chest and plants itself like a seed, growing blooming flowers of warmth and calm. My breathing slows. I can feel his heartbeat beneath the palm of my right hand. It’s faster than normal but steady; not erratic like my own.

“Better?” he asks after a few more minutes when my breathing is almost back to normal. I nod, then open my eyes. His are already open looking down at me with such wonder and heart wrenching tenderness that it squeezes everything inside me in the most sweetly painful way.

“Your hands are so cold.” He says softly, wrapping them in between his own larger ones. My fingers curl around his.

“Will you talk to me?” he asks and I know instinctively that he doesn’t mean _talk_ talk. He means my way of talking: writing.

I hold up one finger from the confines of his palms indicating one minute, and he nods, rubbing my freezing hands between his.

When I’m ready, I extricate one hand and pull out my notepad. I sink to the floor and he goes down with me, holding on to me as I toss my notebook on the floor and write with one hand. He reads over my shoulder as I write. _You were gone!_

“I am sorry. They came for me around midafternoon announcing that I was to be moved to a new cell with a lower security level. They stated my good behaviour as the reason that prompted this sudden decision.”

I look up at him. He gazes back inquisitively. “You had something to do with their decision didn’t you?”

I shake my head. He gives me a disbelieving look. I shrug.

“I have been here for two years now, never making a scene, never displaying anything but exemplary prisoner behaviour, and not once was there ever even as much as talk of moving me to a lower security cell. You appear for not even three weeks and all of a sudden I get a room with a view.” He says, jerking his chin towards the window above his head that is larger than the tiny hole he had before, and the only thing about the room that’s different. Besides the bars.

I shrug again.

“What happened?” he asks gently.

I pick up the pen and chew on the end, thinking about how to tell him everything that happened as concisely, in as few words as I can. I don’t want to write a damn essay here. _Turns out they’ve been watching us._

“Who is they?”

_Steve._

“The Captain?”

I nod. _Last night triggered an alarm which alerted Mr. Stark. He called me into his office to chew me out. But Steve was there defending us. And so was your brother._

“Thor? He was on our side?”

I nod, my insides contracting with inane happiness at him also linking us together with that one little word: ‘our’. _They convinced Mr. Stark to let me keep seeing you, that you help me, and that you’re not gonna hurt me. He didn’t want to believe it, but they argued for us._

“My brother did? Truly?”

I nod again, sad that this seems so hard for him to believe. It was so clear to me that Thor loves his little brother very much, and was devastated by what Loki had done, and what had happened to him.

“What about their decision to move me?”

_I don’t know. I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t even know it was on the table._

“Hmm,” he muses. “Well, I say we should not look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth. We should just appreciate what we gain from it.” He squeezes my hands.

I nod fiercely in response.

“Under these extenuating circumstances I suppose I also won’t reprimand you for this.” He says, smoothing my hands open, palms up, to expose the wounds my nails left that are still gently oozing blood, and only just beginning to knit closed.

I shrug apologetically.

“Don’t.” He says softly reaching one hand through the bars to brush his fingertips over my cheek. He pauses contemplatively, then does it again. “Norns, I have wanted to do that for so long…” he says more to himself than to me.

I smile waveringly, then bring up the hand he isn’t still clutching and hold his palm to my face. His answering smile is wide and bright.

He gently cleans the blood off my hands and bandages them after applying the healing ointment, swirling it over the scratches for so long that I know he was just looking for excuses to keep touching me. Of course, I don’t mind though he doesn’t need excuses. I don’t think I’m ever going to let go of him again. Ever!

Once, while he is focused, head bent over my lacerated palms, my gaze goes over his shoulder, eyes searching the top right corner of the cell, looking for where the camera was in the other room. But either there is none here, or it’s so cleverly hidden that I can’t see it. My money’s on the latter.

He takes care of my sore knuckles too, discarding the makeshift wrapping that was the strip of his shirt, and re-bandaging them with an actual Ace bandage that he must have asked for at some point during the day.

“Will you stay?” he asks softly, and I nod, looking around for my pillow before I vaguely remember dropping it in the other hallway when I couldn’t find him.

“What are you searching for?”

 _I brought a pillow._ I write. I’m sorry. _I didn’t mean to be presumptuous like you’d just let me stay, like I wasn’t even gonna ask and was just gonna bunk down in front of your door. I just-_

My words are flowing faster and faster, my writing quickly becoming messier and illegible as my hand skitters across the page. He reaches through the bars and stops my pen.

“You never have to apologize for needing me.” He pauses, considering. “I need you too.”

I look up at him, half disbelieving, half hopeful.

He smiles crookedly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is it truly so hard to believe?”

I swallow and think back to what Thor said; that he tried to kill himself. The thought is incomprehensible to me. Not because suicide is such a reprehensible option; I personally never considered it, but it was less from an overwhelming desire to keep on living and more from a lack of motivation to put all this effort into dying externally when I was already dead and buried on the inside. That, and I was too afraid of more pain. What scares me about the idea of Loki attempting to take his life is the idea of a world; a universe, without him in it. I don’t even want to think about it. Just the thought makes my heart pound and my stomach seize.

Loki must see the shadows that cross my face because his thumb sweeps over the back of my hand where he’s holding it, while his other hand snakes between the bars to lightly grip my chin, tilting it up until I meet his gaze. “Just ask…” he says softly, reading me as only he can. “Whatever my brother may have told you, you can ask.” He releases my writing hand.

I write without looking away from his eyes, the words winding up diagonal on the page, some letters looping and blending together. _He said you tried to kill yourself?_

His teeth clench. I can see his jaw muscles working, before he nods once, tightly.

I lick my dry lips, trying to force back the tears that prick my eyes. _I’m glad it didn’t work._

His eyes soften, becoming unbearably sad and distant. “Until quite recently I was convinced it had worked, though not in the way I’d originally intended it to.”

I frown, confused.

His thumb sweeps over my cheek, swiping away a tear that spilled from my eye. “I felt dead until I met you.”

Oh. That sends a few more tears over the edge. He wipes them away tirelessly, the distant look fading more and more as he finds his way back to me from wherever his mind took him. “Do not cry. Please. Do not be sad for me.”

_I’m not. Sad. Well maybe a little. I don’t know… I hate that you were hurting so much you wanted to die but I’m glad that I make you feel better._

“You make me feel alive.” He corrects.

_Me too. You, I mean. You make me feel alive too._

His smile warms me to the deepest recesses of my body.

He lets go of me for a second, retrieving his pillow from the bed, then sends it over to me via the drop down tray that is still present here, since the pillow is too big to stuff through the bars. He studiously ignores my attempts at telling him to keep his pillow because I don’t want him to be uncomfortable. “Just take it.” He says giving me a long suffering look when I stand stubbornly in front of the tray, refusing to retrieve the pillow.

I sigh, and relent grabbing it and returning to stretch out on the floor with the pillow folded in half and stuck under my head.

He smirks triumphantly and lies down opposite me, one hand reaching through the bars to entwine with mine. His eyes hold a curious light and I nod indicating that he can ask whatever is on his mind.

“You do not inquire further about what I just revealed to you?”

_It would be really offensive and hypocritical to ask you to talk to me about your past, while I refuse to tell you about mine, and can’t even talk to you in general._

He plays with my fingers. “I told you that it does not matter to me if you never talk to me using your voice. I only care that you talk to me.” He points with his chin to my notepad.

_Still it wouldn’t be fair to expect you to tell me all of your bad stuff and I tell you nothing._

“You will tell me when you are ready.”

_I’m sorry._

“What do you apologize for?”

 _That I’m not ready now. That I may never be ready_.

He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Then that is alright as well…”

It’s comforting to know that he has no expectations of me, won’t suddenly up and leave because I won’t put out with my secrets. I’m starting to believe it too, to trust that he is telling the truth. But still I’m terrified. How can I ask him to show me his demons without expecting to reveal some of my own? And even if he doesn’t expect me to, I know that _I’l_ _l_ expect me too. I won’t feel like it’s fair if he lays his soul bare to me, and I keep all my secrets hoarded tight to my chest. I know he won’t ask but somehow that’s even worse… How can I ask him to share something so personal with me, and then deny him the same? But I can’t even imagine telling him something that awful. I don’t want him to know. I’m too scared, too weak, to small, and too broken.

“Let us put it from our minds for now.” He suggests, reaching between the bars to rub his fingers over the spot between my eyebrows, smoothing out the frown line there. “But know you can ask me whatever you want, anytime. I will keep no secrets from you, and I will never lie to you. I would tell you all now, but I do not want to burden you until you are ready and prepared. My story is not pleasant…”

Neither is mine. But I just nod. I want to know, but I’m not ready. The rollercoaster of my emotions was too much today; going up, and down, and into sharp curves, and into several heart stopping loop-de-loops, and now I’m too raw. It’s like my entire body is wind-burned with third degree burns.

“Shall I read to you again?” he asks.

I nod gratefully for the distraction, but when he picks up _A Game of Thrones_ I point instead to _The Great Gatsby_ feeling more in the mood for its sleek sophistication rather than the other book’s explicit violence.

Loki reads me to sleep and keeps right on reading through the whole night. Several times he wakes me, each time telling me that I was appearing to slip into nightmares. I don’t mind the constant interruptions to my sleep, preferring it infinitely to having it instead be disturbed by a nightmare.

Loki doesn’t sleep. He assures me he doesn’t need to, but part of me thinks he’s afraid of having another nightmare of his own. Still, selfishly, I’m glad he doesn’t sleep because it means he can rouse me when I get restless, and even though I feel terribly guilty I’m also secretly grateful every time I wake up to his fingers on my face, or in my hair, and his soft voice in my ear, not muffled or distorted in the slightest by anything separating us.

In the morning I don’t leave. It’s Saturday so I have the day off and now that people know that I come down here I’m not worried anymore about being caught by whoever brings his breakfast. The guy who does is a lower level agent/intern of some sort and he looks at me weirdly. I brush it off as him not having been prepared to find me camped out down here, and ignore him as completely as Loki does.

He scarfs down an entire half of a bagel in seconds flat while I sit cross legged opposite him, holding the other half and watching him.

“Eat.” He says pointing to the doughy bread circle in my hand. I look down at it then raise it and take a small bite before I pass it back to him.

He gives me a long look then takes a bite from the opposite side and shoves it insistently back at me.

He winds up eating more of it than I do, but I still feel full by the time it’s gone. I wipe crumbs from my jeans and look up at him. _Can I bring some work down here?_

He frowns. “I thought you said it was your day off?”

_It is, but I usually work a bit anyway. And I’ve already missed several hours yesterday and basically the entire day Thursday. I want to catch up a bit._

“By all means.”

I hesitate. _I don’t have to do it here. I can go to my room or the lab and come back later if you want a few hours alone._

He takes the notepad from my hands tears out the page I just wrote that on, crumples it and tosses it behind him, his eyes never leaving mine. I understand this to be the equivalent of him covering my mouth with his hand to get me to shut up. “You must stop assuming that I am tired of your company, or that I do not want you here.”

I bite my lip, then nod.

He nods back to me. “Very well, go get whatever you require, I will he here when you return.” He adds with a mischievous, but also slightly regretful twinkle in his eyes.

And this is how we spend the day. I drag my laptop downstairs along with two boxes of files. I set up shop outside his cell and start to sift through the mountain of work that has accumulated over my day and a half long absence. I expect Loki to become disinterested, but he hovers over my shoulder, watching me intently. He doesn’t interrupt me, or bother me, or get in the way at all, he just observes unobtrusively, and with interest.

Time passes swiftly, and I manage to get through all the work I’d missed. I guess J.A.R.V.I.S. was right; Loki does increase my productivity.

The sun is down by the time I close my laptop, and stretch my arms out above my head. The same agent who brought Loki his breakfast also brought his dinner but I didn’t pay too much attention. Now that I’m finished I see that Loki didn’t touch his tray even though at last glance my laptop screen showed me that it was ten after 7. I point to his untouched plate.

“I was waiting for you.” He says.

Oh. Okay. I point to the bowl of salad. He passes it to me along with the fork, then waits stubbornly for me to take the first bite. Once I do, he also takes a bite of his sandwich. He eats everything on his plate while I do my best to stuff down the salad. I keep eating even when I’m about to burst because I don’t want to disappoint him. He senses it though, and reaches out to pluck the fork from my fingers.

I look at him, and he smiles gently and reassuringly. “Will you stay the night?”

I have to forcibly restrain myself from asking if that’s okay with him. Instead I scribble: _I’m gonna go wash up first._ I pause then look around his room, searching as a thought occurs to me. _How do you shower?_

He looks at me with one elegant eyebrow raised high.

I blush crimson. _I just wondered. There’s no shower in your cell that I can see. And you don’t stink. I just wondered. Shit. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m sorry._ I’m babbling even without being able to speak. Gah!

He grins, then reaches to the side and presses a button somewhere on the wall. A buzzing sounds, and a shower head comes out of the ceiling in the corner, a clear plastic curtain also drops down isolating the space, ensuring that none of his sparse belongings get wet, but offering little in the way of privacy.

I blink up at it, then at him. _High-tech…_

He huffs a laugh. “It is not a gilded golden bathtub as I was used to on Asgard… but the water pressure is excellent."

He’s trying to make me laugh, but all I can think about is that he was used to opulent, affluent lifestyles; wasn’t he a prince? And now… now all he has is a seven by seven by seven foot cube with bare walls and floor, and a bed that looks about as comfortable as a slab of granite.

“Do not feel sorry for me.” He says gently. “I have exactly what I deserve.”

I shake my head wildly. He doesn’t. He doesn’t deserve this. No. No matter what he’s done. I refuse to believe it.

He looks at me so infinitely sadly, then jerks his chin slightly. “Run along. Go do what you need to do. And take your time; I will be here when you get back.”

Yes. Yes, he will, which is something else that makes me sad. Not that he’ll be here, but that he’ll be _here!_ In this cell. Imprisoned.

I try to do as he said and take my time, but I just can’t. I can’t help but hurry because as soon as I’m away from him my chest tightens and it gets harder to draw enough air into my lungs. I don’t know if it’s gotten worse since I met him or if I’ve simply forgotten what my old norm used to be, but whatever it is, it just serves to highlight all that much more how dependent I’ve grown on him.

I take the world’s quickest shower and then, because for some reason I suddenly feel the need to impress him with my rather questionable physical virtues, I blow dry my hair to give it a bit more volume, and pick a shirt that’s a teensy bit tighter than the potato sacks I usually wear. It’s not skin-tight, curve hugging; I don’t own any of those anymore, but it does hint at the fact that I have a shape, and that shape is not ‘unidentifiable blob’. I also tell myself that I put on yoga pants instead of jeans so I can be comfortable as I sleep. Yup. I’m a goner.

I head back down, garnering a few more strange looks from those I pass. I wonder briefly if it’s the fact that I look like I put a little more effort into my appearance, and then dismiss it because I really don’t look _that_ different, and no one would look closely enough at mousy old me to notice the difference in the first place. Maybe the word has gotten around that I’m spending time with the infamous prisoner and people disapprove of that. Well, if they do then I don’t care, and it’s none of their business either way.

Apparently my little pseudo primping session was worth it because Loki’s eyes slide over me once, quickly and appreciatively, and it doesn’t make me shiver in revulsion. Instead it excites me. Which in turn confuses me. God, I’m all over the place.

I settle down on the floor opposite him and he threads his fingers through mine. “Alright?”

I nod. And for once it actually feels like I’m telling the truth.

He reaches behind him and fiddles with something, and the next second _Michelle_ starts to play softly in the background. I smile then slide my free hand along the ground searching for my notepad. _My mom picked my middle name after this song_.

He smiles as he reads. “What about your first name?”

_From “Annie’s Song" by John Denver._

“I would like to hear it.”

_I’ll download it for you tomorrow._

We fall silent. “Do you have a favourite song?”

I nod.

“Is it on this device?”

I nod again.

He levels a look at me, and I fight to suppress my smile. _Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds_. I write.

He seems to think for a second. “Ah, yes. I remember it. Why do you like it?”

I hesitate. _When I was a kid I had all these glow in the dark sticker stars on my bedroom ceiling. Whenever the song came on I’d twirl around and around in circles underneath the stars until I was so dizzy I couldn’t stand up. Then I’d lie on my carpet on my back and look up at all the stars spinning._ It makes me sick now, the spinning, swirling stars reminding me of another set of swirling lights, twinkling in a sick parody of something I used to love doing. I still love the song though… that remained unspoiled, though after _it_ happened one of the first lucid things I did, once I was let out of the hospital, was peel and scrape all the stickers off my ceiling.

Loki squeezes my hand, sensing that I’m slipping away from him into Dangerland. I squeeze back, using his hold on me to tread water and keep my head above the tide. To distract myself I write: _Do you have a favourite song yet?_

“Of this band that you seem to love so much, I would pick the song entitled _Blackbird._ Overall I would say _Man in the Mirror.”_

 _MJ. Classic!_ I feel like I learned more about him from those two song choices than I have in all the time I’ve known him.

I yawn.

He smiles sweetly. “Go to sleep. I will still be here when you wake up.”

I squeeze his hand tighter suddenly afraid that this day was all a dream, and tomorrow I’ll wake up and be back outside the Plexiglas divider, unable to touch him.

“The glass will still be gone tomorrow.” He promises, reading my mind yet again.

Reassured, I close my eyes, drifting off while ironically _I’m So Tired_ plays in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was alright?! Next chapter we'll get Loki's story, so that's something to look forward to. Other than that, thanks, as always, for reading. Y'all rock! 💕💕


	12. Your Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: rape, nightmares, flashbacks, panic attack, talk of suicide, abuse.  
> So this is Loki's story. Obviously not everything is canon but I like it this way, and I'm obviously a believer that Loki isnt a bad guy and that he was forced to do a lot of the bad things he did. He's no angel by any means, hes a trickster and he can be malicious but hes not a bad guy and hes not evil! That's my two cents anyway. And even if you dont agree with my point of view, that's fine, but for the duration of this story that's how it is.  
> Also I know Loki's age isnt accurate but for some reason that number resonated with me and so I couldnt be particularly bothered to change it. It's not that important to the story anyway. And as we already know, like Loki, I do what I want!  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy the new chapter.

I’m lying beneath a starry sky looking up at the twinkling stars. Somehow I suspect that I’m dreaming, and this suspicion is confirmed for me when I look to my left to see Loki stretched out in the grass beside me. His eyes reflect the stars as he smiles. He comes up onto one elbow, his other hand reaching over to caress my face.

“So beautiful,” he hums as he leans over me. He leverages his weight over me, sliding one knee between my legs so he can balance. As his lips lower towards mine, my eyes slide closed. I want to stretch upwards to hurry along the moment when his mouth will touch down on mine, but I can’t move. My limbs feel heavy, but not in a bad way, more like a lazy, languid, and sanguine weight holding them down.

I feel the brush of his lips, first against my forehead. From there it slides down over my temple, then little feather light pecks to my eyelids, and then my cheeks. He kisses the corners of my lips, and he’s so close, so close to where I want him to be. He draws back, but before I can protest or open my eyes, his lips find mine. Euphoria erupts through me as I experience my very first kiss. It’s everything I’ve ever imagined it to be and better. I melt into him, losing myself in the feeling.

Until… something starts to feel wrong. It’s wet. Too wet. He doesn’t seem like the kind to give slobbery kisses. My eyes open. His already are, burning down into mine. He draws back. His lips are slick with blood. It drips down from his mouth, staining his teeth grotesquely, running over his chin, and smeared on his throat. It drips down onto my chest, and I can’t tell if it comes from me or him. Is the wetness around my own mouth originating from me or did it transfer? The taste of copper is thick and chocking in my throat.

He’s still smiling down at me as if all is right with the world, as if he can’t see the blood on me, taste it in his own mouth. I suck in a breath to scream. Nothing comes out of my mouth but dead air. My lungs feel like they’re about to rip to shreds with the force of the air I’m pushing through them, but still no sound comes out. I hear the screams in my head, but they’re not mine. They never are. They’re his. Always his. But his mouth is closed and still smiling down at me insanely. His eyes are empty, dead, unseeing, smooth as marbles. Something is pressing down on my body forcing it into the dirt below me. Pain tears through me, ripping me to pieces, my stomach, my throat, between my legs, my wrists: on fire. Everything is on fire. Rain pours down my face. How can I be burning if it’s raining?! Then behind his head the night sky explodes…

“Annie! Annie!”

The ground is shaking. No. I am shaking. No. Something is shaking me. Someone.

My eyes fly open. Immediately I see Loki. His eyes. They aren’t dead, and sightless, and empty. They are full of fear; panic. His face is warped with the same.

He’s shaking me hard, his large hands squeezed through the bars to hold me by my upper arms, fingers closed so tightly they wrap all the way around. My head snaps back and forth, and lolls on my shoulders like that of a ragdoll.

And still the screaming persists. Dimly, I register that something is off about the screaming. It’s too high pitched. My heart drops into my gut when I realize that the voice screaming isn’t Loki’s, and the screams are not in my head. They’re mine, and they are pouring out of my own mouth.

I snap my lips shut. My hands come up automatically to cover my mouth, gagging as the screams hit the wall of my palm. My other hand claws at him. His skin feels hot under my touch. Feverish. Or maybe I’m just so icy cold. At first I claw at him wanting to get closer. Then my stomach gives an alarming lurch and I shove at him instead, yanking myself away. I just barely manage to crawl two cells away before my stomach empties itself in a violent surge, as I heave and heave again and again until there’s nothing left inside me to bring back up. I am empty. Hollow. Wrung out.

I collapse into the floor, turning my head weakly away from the puddle of sick. The cold stone floor feels good against my overheated skin. My guts still roil, and I press a clenched fist to my lips hoping to keep in whatever else may try to forcibly expel itself from my body.

“Annie?” the voice is quiet. Soothing. It slips inside me like a tonic, easing my nausea in seconds. My eyes peel open.

“Annie, please. Can you come back here? I would come to you, but…” he breaks off sounding desperate.

I fight my way up onto my hands and knees and attempt to crawl, but my arms shake to wildly and cannot hold me, and I collapse back onto the floor. But I need to get to him; I need him, and so I drag myself along the smooth tiles like some pathetic impression of an invertebrate precambrian swamp creature.

He reaches through the bars capturing my wrists and helping to pull me the rest of the way over. He positions me easily so I’m lying stretched out beside him on my front, my head turned toward him. He lies down too, one hand restlessly stroking over my clammy face, the other rubbing soothing circles between my shoulder blades.

“Oh, darling, oh, sweet thing. You are safe. You are safe now, nothing will hurt you. No one will. Never again. I’m sorry. I am so sorry.” He whispers empty promises, though the meaningless words in his voice still calm me.

But he’s wrong. Someone will hurt me again. And that someone is me!

“What can I do?” he asks me the same question I asked him when he had his nightmare.

I gesture weakly at him indicating that he should keep doing exactly what he’s doing.

He does.

When my breathing has slowed substantially and I’ve stopped shuddering so violently, he asks, “Do you have nightmares like this often?”

I shrug. Nightmares? Yes. Erotic dreams that turn into nightmares? No. Never before. I drag a hand down my haggard face. He captures it and brings it up between the bars, to his lips. He places a quick hard kiss into the palm of my hand. I curl my fingers into a fist, holding on to the gift.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” he asks.

I shudder. I can’t have another nightmare again. The thought of another one so soon is nearly enough to undo me. He hears my quickening breath and strokes my cheek. “Shh, I will stay awake and ensure that you do not slip into another one.”

No, no, I can’t ask him to do that. Then he’ll lose sleep.

Once again he reads my mind. “I would not be losing anything that I would have had without you here.”

I swallow hard, then nod. The pull to be selfish is just too strong right now. I inch closer to the bars until I’m pressed right up against him. He slips one arm out to me and urges me to pillow my head on his bicep then bends his elbow and wrist, sliding his fingertips over the hair at my temple. His other hand tangles tightly with mine.

“That was not how I imagined hearing your voice again,” he says wistfully. “I had hoped you would be laughing. Not screaming.”

Tears cloud my eyes and he brings our entwined hands up to stroke the backs of his fingers down my cheek. “Shh, do not be sad. Do not be sorry. I am simply glad I can help at all.”

I nod. He does help. If I’d had this dream, or any dream, alone, I’d still be on the bathroom floor curled up in the fetal position, rocking myself. And that’s being optimistic and assuming I’d made it all the way to the bathroom before spilling my guts.

My eyes slide closed. As the darkness engulfs me, my fingers tighten. I’ve never really been scared of the dark even _after,_ but right now it terrifies me. I feel completely disoriented and lost.

Loki starts to sing. He’s clearly listened to _Here Comes the Sun_ multiple times because he knows the whole thing now. Front to back. And he sings it to me over and over again, his voice becoming a path through the darkness that leads me slowly toward the light. I hear it long past the point I’m sure I’ve slid back into unconsciousness.

When I wake again, the sun is up. Loki is sitting leaning sideways against the bars, a book on his lap, and one hand snaked through the bars and stroking my hair. I blink blearily up at him and he smiles down at me, tenderness and worry in his eyes. “Are you feeling alright? Better?”

I nod tentatively, then sit up stretching. My fingers search blindly for my notepad and Loki reaches down sweeping it and the pen into my hand. I flip to a new page and write: _Did you have to wake me up? I don’t remember._

“I did not. You slept soundly.”

_Whatcha readin'?_

He holds up _A_ _Game of Thrones_ _._ “I must say that this Prince Joffrey is the most unpleasant character I have ever come across in all my years.”

I smile inwardly. He’s not wrong, but clearly he hasn’t read Harry Potter otherwise he’d know about Dolores Umbridge, who’s a strong contender for the Worst Character Ever title. But he’s raised a question in me that I’m amazed hasn’t occurred to me before. _How old are you?_

His eyes become guarded. “I wonder if it will unnerve you?”

I shrug. _Only one way to find out._

“I was born 1207 years ago.”

I gape at him. One thousand- wow! I look away, blinking rapidly. I can feel his eyes on the side of my face, watchful. _How much is that in human years?_

He chuckles. “I do not know exactly, but I would wager relative close to your own age.”

Somehow that doesn’t seem so bad anymore. But still… 1207 isn’t that big of a number but when applied to age it seems ginormous. Too big to wrap my head around.

Loki distracts me. “Would you like breakfast? I saved you some.”

I frown. Did I sleep right through the surly guy bringing in the food? Apparently I did. A quick glance behind me also proves that the puddle of puke has been cleaned away. For a second I feel quite sorry for the guy who had to clean it, since I know _that_ particular misery all too well, thank you! But then I remember the dirty looks he gave me yesterday and the guilt dissipates.

I turn back to Loki, who is watching me, waiting patiently for my answer. Right, breakfast. My stomach clenches. I don’t think I should be eating anything right now. I shake my head slowly and timidly, wondering if he will push the point. But he seems to understand my trepidation because he nods. Then he turns his back to me, fumbling around with something. When he turns around he’s holding a steaming mug that he passes through the bars to me.

“At least drink this. Hopefully it will settle your stomach.” I accept the mug and sniff it. More earl grey tea. Yummy. I blow in it then take a tentative sip. My stomach rebels for a second then settles. I sigh relieved as Loki smiles.

We sit in silence, me drinking, Loki reading. One of his hands flips pages steadily, and faster than I want to believe. His other hand rests on my thigh above my knee, rubbing soothing circles, and I’m suddenly glad I wore the thinner yoga pants instead of the sturdy jeans. I can feel the warmth from his strong fingers seeping through the fabric into my perpetually chilled skin.

I watch him from beneath surreptitiously lowered lashes, though I know that he knows I’m looking at him. The easy smile around the corners of his sculpted lips gives it away. He appears to like my perusal.

As I watch him, I think. I think about the few things I know about him. And I think that the reason I know so little about him is not because he endeavours to hide it from me, but because I won’t let him tell me. He’s already promised to be an open book for me, and, unlike me, he’s ready to talk about his past; about what traumatized him, what causes his nightmares. The only reason he’s held back is because he’s worried that I’m not ready to hear it, that him relieving his pain will cause more of the same for me. And he’s right. I don’t know if I’m strong enough. Not for me, but for him. Because if he bares his soul for me then I want to be strong enough to listen, to take it, to share the burden of his secrets and take some of the weight off him, like he’s already taken weight off me and my chest, even though I haven’t actually even told him anything.

I think about what else I know about him. How he says he’s lonely. How he’s felt abandoned by everyone in his life. How people leave him, ignore him, discard him… And suddenly I know how to help him. I _can_ listen. And I can stay. Like no one else ever has. _Because_ no one else ever has.

And just like that I know I’m strong enough. I know I can bear whatever he tells me. It might drive me to my knees, the horror of it might twist me up inside, but I know I’ll be able to fight my way back up from this because it wont be for me. It’ll be for him, and for him I would do anything. Because he’s already doing everything for me!

I slip the piece of paper between the open pages of his book. I know he saw me writing, but he chose to wait until I gave him the paper instead of reading it upside down as I wrote.

His eyes snap up to mine, weary and worried. “Are you certain?”

I nod. _I’m ready to listen if you’re okay to talk._

He swallows, laying his book aside. “It is not a pretty story.” He warns me again.

_Tell me._

“What do you want to know?”

_All of it. Anything._

“Very well.” He shifts to the side so his back is leaning against the bars and leans his head against them looking up to the ceiling. I rise up onto my knees behind him, moving as close as the bars allow, trying to offer him whatever meager strength I have. Like an addict’s, my hands are shaking slightly as I reach for him and place them on his shoulders, then slide them down onto his pecs. I’m unsure why he turned away from me; if it means he’s rejecting my touch, but when his own hands come up to cover mine where they lie on his chest, I relax.

He takes a deep breath then begins to speak. “You know that I attempted to take my own life approximately seven years ago.” He doesn’t wait for me to answer simply plows on with his tale. “I felt abandoned and betrayed. I admit I had made some foolish choices but I wished to prove to my father that I was a better choice to be King than Thor, who, as the first born, had the preferred right. But Thor was reckless and arrogant then, and if he had been crowned he would have driven Asgard into the ground through senseless wars. But it appeared as if only I saw this; all others being to blinded and enamored by my wonderful brother’s many virtues.”

For the first time a slight note of bitterness creeps into his voice. “I made some questionable decisions to prompt him towards drastic actions that he would have taken anyway; I simply hurried the process along. It worked, and my father cast him out, banished him to Earth. In his absence Odin then experienced some health issues and I became the new temporary king.”

His voice is slow and quiet, almost monotonous like he’s trained himself to not have feelings over this but I can sense the turmoil far, far down. “I was not respected. Even though I was crowned with the Queen's blessing, until my father returned to health, those who should have listened to my council deliberately disobeyed me, went against everything I cautioned them against, disrespected me openly, and mocked me. They were my brother’s friends, and loyal to him, but they were mine too. Or so I believed, until they chose sides before I even realized that sides need be chosen.”

The betrayal is heavy in his voice now; he’s not bothering to try to hide it anymore and I can only imagine how that must have felt; to find out that people he thought were his friends, actually preferred his brother and apparently only tolerated him because he was the younger sibling tag-along.

“At around this time I found out that I was not the born blood son of my parents. I was adopted; taken from my home planet after Odin conquered and slaughtered half my race. He took me to raise me and act as an instrument of war, a bargaining chip to use for future negotiations and treaties with the Jötuns. My real father was the King of Jotunheim so I was still a prince, first in line, born to rule either way. But it was Asgard that I loved, Asgard I called home, and it was Asgard I wanted to rule, protect, and make better. My father and I fought. I was angry that he kept the secret of my true heritage from me for so long and had made no sign that he ever planned on telling me. He was angry that I had gone snooping. I told him that it was my birthright to be a king. He told me that my birthright was to die.”

My entire body goes cold as my brain fires up with righteous anger at the man who said that to Loki! The man who had, by choice, taken on the role as his father, a role through which he swore to protect his son! How could he say that?!

A small humourless smile plays around Loki’s mouth. “That was when his health problems began and I became king. The secret kept hurt me deeply because I felt that he did not trust me with the truth; did not trust that I would not become what I was, if he told me. But the fact that my mother also kept it from me hurt the most. Yes, Odin coerced her into not telling me, but it still stung. I admit I lost my head for a while. I was angry. Young still and impulsive. I figured since my father valued Thor so much, upholding his image to me even after his first son was banished and disgraced, then why not act more like him? I became rash, attacking without reason. My brother returned to stop me. We fought. The fight ended with a massive explosion that threw both of us over the edge of the bridge that connects Asgard to the rest of the realms. Beneath this bridge is the Ether, which is, essentially, empty space. My brother and I were thrown into this. My father, miraculously awoken, caught Thor. I managed to hold on to my brother to keep from falling.”

I’m starting to guess where this is going and I feel queasy.

“I tried, I tried one last time to see if I could ever measure up in my fathers eyes. I could not. He told me so. I let go…”

Tears fall from my eyes as I bend my head pressing my forehead to his shoulder, a bar digging into my temple from each side. My fingers tighten fisting in his shirt.

“I fell. I wanted to die since it was _my birthright._ But where I landed was so much worse than death. I was “rescued” by the crew of a mighty ship, bigger than some small planets. The ruler on board was aptly called The Mad Titan. He…” Loki breaks off, his breathing quickening now. I hold him closer, as close as I can with the bars between us.

“He knew who I was. Everything. My true heritage. My adopted one. I do not know how he knew when I myself had only recently found out. He wanted me to work for him. He said it did not matter who’s child I had been before because now I would become his. His child. I refused. He tortured me…”

Sideways I can see tears running down his face unchecked, to drip onto his shirt and my hands where they clutch it. “For five long years he tortured me in ways you could not even imagine; agonies unparalleled. I did not break. I felt a perverse sense of loyalty still to my father and brother, but mostly to my mother. I could not; _would not_ be what they had probably all always expected me to become: what my mother had worked so hard at helping me avoid becoming: a monster.”

I shake my head against his shoulder. He’s not. He is not a monster!

“I never broke. But one day Thanos procured the thing he most needed. It is called the Mind Stone and it possesses the power to give the wielder control over another’s mind.”

My brain clicks over rapidly. That scepter thing he had when he invaded New York. What he used to influence Hawkeye and the Swedish doctor to get them under his control. Is he saying that he was also…?

He's looking sideways at me. “I see you know what I am talking about.”

I grope for my notepad then brace it against his shoulder and write sloppily: _You were under its control too?!_

“I was.”

_So everything that happened in Stuttgart and N.Y.C…_

“Was not done willingly by me.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, and I can sense there’s more coming, and so I hold back the questions crowding in the tip of my pen. “I was aware of all I was doing, but my brain wasn’t in charge. I could see through my own eyes as I killed people, I could feel their blood on my fingers, felt it splatter onto my face. I saw the lights leave their eyes, but I could do nothing to stop it. I was screaming inside but no one could tell.”

He bites his lip so viciously it turns white. His eyes squeeze shut and his fists clench, nails digging into his palms. I rub my own hands down his forearms feeling the bunched muscles under his skin, harder than steel. My slim little hands cover his large ones, and I tug at his fingers trying to get him to open them so that he doesn’t get cuts like mine in his palms. He realizes what I’m doing and unfurls his fingers, giving me a wistful smile devoid of any humor over his shoulder. He threads his fingers with mine then continues. “I was still somehow able to orchestrate things according to my own agenda. After I was made to subjugate Agent Barton I learned about what was known as the Avengers Initiative. I was able to apply enough pressure in all the right places, while still making it seem as if I was completely controlled, to incite these heroes; or so they call them. They were a rather dysfunctional bunch at first. But I knew that if there was anyone powerful enough to stop me, to eventually stop Thanos it would be this band of costumed clowns led by my brother.”

As he speaks I remember that line that stood out to me from the security footage in Mr. Stark’s penthouse. “Your brother, the demigod. A super soldier; living legend who kinda lives up to the legend. A man with breathtaking anger management issues. A couple of master assassins. And you, big fella, you’ve managed to piss off every single one of them.” And then Loki’s reply and that cheeky wink: “That was the plan.” At the time it made no sense. Why would it be his plan to incite the only forces that could halt his scheme? Unless he wanted to be stopped. Which he did. Because it wasn’t his plan. He was merely the pawn, the scapegoat, the one to throw the blame on should things go wrong. And he wanted them to go wrong. Meaning that he basically sacrificed himself to this term of imprisonment. And he does not deserve to be in here!

_How did you manage to break out of the mind control?_

“When I was Hulk-smashed. Apparent they call it cognitive recalibration. It knocked something loose in my head and I was myself again, in charge of all my actions and facilities.” He sounds so tired, so bone weary now.

_Why didn’t you tell them?_

“They have no reason to believe me. My story sounds far too convenient, even to my own ears, and I have no evidence. Midgard has no record that the Mad Titan exists or ever existed. Most planets don’t. Except Titan itself, and that has been destroyed with no recorded survivors. No one would believe me.”

_I believe you!_

He smiles at me sadly. “You are biased.”

I shake my head. _Maybe a little bit now, but I believed it right from the start. That day I did research into you, I started with all the news articles and amateur videos, and everything I saw scared me to death. I wanted to see you again but I was too scared. I thought you were evil. But then I found a file that had other videos on it. S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff. Stuff they didn’t release to the public. And it raised questions with me. Enough for reasonable doubt, and enough to make me think that maybe you weren’t acting on your own free will, and so I came back. And I believe it even more now. You’re not evil and you’re not a monster! What happened wasn’t your fault. And I BELIEVE YOU!!!!!!!!_

He reads my giant paragraph, and then reads it again. And again. Finally he carefully rips the page out of my notebook, folds it in half, then in fourths, and tucks the entire sheet into his pants pocket. When he turns he turns his full body around to face me his eyes are wet. “You believe me?”

I nod fiercely!

He bows forward, his forehead impacting with the bars with a low clang, then stays there, his shoulders shuddering. I scoot forward, placing my forehead against his and, because that’s not enough, I grope for his hands and pull them through the bars, pressing them to my upper chest and breathing for him just as he usually does for me.

When he calms, I write, _Others could believe you too. I can tell your brother wants to._

He shakes his head. “Do not fight my battles for me, little one. Not these ones. They are insignificant. I am alright being here. At least here Thanos cannot find me.”

_Is that something that could happen?_

His eyes grow distant and he speaks in a low monotone. It takes me a second to figure out that he is quoting something that was said to him. ““If you fail; if the Tesseract is kept from us there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.””

I reach up to touch his face to bring him back to me. His eyes refocus on the words I’ve already written. _What if we go to Asgard? Woulndt you be safer there?_

He shakes his head smiling grimly. “My fate on Asgard would be much the same as it is here. Eternal imprisonment. And I do not think my father would have had his heart softened enough to allow you to visit me. Though I’m sure my mother would adore you!” His smile warms.

I bite my lip, thinking. _Then what if we go away? Somewhere secret. Somewhere no one else knows? Just us?! We won’t tell anyone we’re going. We’ll just run away._

His face goes unbearably soft. “You would do that for me? Leave everything you know behind?”

I nod. In a heartbeat!

His eyes are deep and they suddenly reflect his age. He seems so much wiser and knowledgeable than me. A wisdom brought on simply through centuries of life. And a sadness that goes so far down it makes my head spin with despair, because how can I possibly reach down that far to draw him out of it?

“It feels better,” he whispers. “Someone else knowing. _You_ knowing. I wasn’t sure if it would. But it does. I feel lighter… It didn’t totally alleviate the guilt, but I think it lessened it.”

I hold out my hand to him as I scribble with the other: _You don’t have anything to feel guilty for. You’re a victim here too. You’re not the bad guy!_

“Aren’t I?” He looks down. “I made some bad choices.”

_We all do._

“People got hurt because of me.”

_You were mind controlled._

“Even before…”

_We all fuck up sometimes. And you were young. And your world had just been turned upside down by your friends’ betrayal and your parents' deception._

He looks away. “I still do not like humanity. Humans. I revile them. I still view them as small, insignificant, weaker than me, less than. All save for you.”

I shrug. This doesn’t shock or repulse me like he probably thinks it will or should. _We are. Small. Weak. Compared to you. And insignificant in the universe. Especially now that I know that there is other life out there. What are we humans, but one teensy part of that?! And I already know that I’m less than you. You’re a god!_

He shakes his head violently, gripping my hand tighter and stealing my pen. “Don’t say that. Don’t you say that. You are not insignificant! You are not less than me. _You…_ you’re everything. You are so strong, the strongest being I have ever met!”

I shake my head. I can’t be. I’m nothing next to him. I’ve seen what he can do even when mind controlled. And he was strong enough to act out in spite of that, to break out of that. He can do magic. He’s a god. He’s faster than my eyes can see, and stronger than my mind can process. What do I have to offer besides crippling amounts of anxiety and PTSD?!

His hand snakes around to cup the back of my neck pulling me into him. My forehead impacts lightly with the bars. Their touch is cold. This only serves to magnify the sudden heat of his lips which press to my forehead in a fierce kiss, leaving behind a burning imprint. My fingers white knuckle the bars instead of him, because if I touch him right now I won’t be able to stop myself from tearing his shirt off. I’ll throw myself against these bars until either they or I collapse, because all I want to do is crawl inside him. Right up inside him, curl up in his chest where it’s warm and messy, right between his lungs, and have him breathe for me forever. Have him keep me close and safe until the end of time! But since I can’t do that I don’t let go. I can’t let go.

Only when he draws away, do back I trust myself enough to unclench one hand from its strangle grip on the bar, and point to my pen which he stole from me earlier. He passes it back. _I’ve seen evil, Loki. You’re not it!_

“I have seen evil also and it looks very similar to what stares back at me from the mirror.”

The pen flies across the page so fast my hand cramps: _“I’m gonna make a change,_  
 _For once in my life._  
 _Its gonna feel real good._  
 _Gonna make a difference._  
 _Gonna make it alright._  
 _I’m starting with the man in the mirror._  
 _I’m asking him to change his ways._  
 _And no message could have been any clearer:_  
 _If you wanna make the world a better place_  
 _Take a look at yourself and then make a change.”_  
 _Is that why you like that song?_

He nods. “You understand me.” It comes out disbelieving.

_I do. But I still don’t think you need to make too much of a change because most of what happened wasn’t your fault!!!_

He scrapes a hand over his tired face. “Sometimes I almost think I can believe it.”

_Like when?_

“When you say it…”

_I’ll keep saying it then._

He huffs a soft laugh, then slides closer to the bars and holds out his arms. “Come here.”

I curl into him, not caring that the cold metal bars dig uncomfortably into my bones and flesh in several places. Loki is more than warm and soft enough to make up for the discomfort. “I was so worried,” he breathes in my ear. “So scared, everyday, that you would leave me before I could tell you my side of the story. That you would all of a sudden realize the true magnitude of my crimes and that you would not come back. And then I worried that you would leave anyway.”

I shake my head. _I won’t. I won’t leave. Not until you send me away._

“I never will!” He vows fiercely.

 _I’m_ _sorry._

“Whatever for?”

_For not telling you sooner that it didn’t matter. That I suspected foul play in your past already and it didn’t matter to me what you did. What you were forced to do. And for being too afraid._

“Of what?”

_Of all the things I can’t tell you._

He reads my words and then pushes me gently back by my shoulders, reaching up to tuck my loose hair behind my ears, then cups my face in both hands. “For someone who doesn’t speak you have been more honest with me than almost anyone I have ever known.”

I visibly balk at that, and he argues. “You are. You never make me guess what you are feeling, and you tell me straight and from your heart what you think. You do not pretend, and you are so incredibly brave!”

I don’t pretend? If only he knew how much of my life is pretend. Pretending to care, pretending to be okay, pretending like every moment isn’t tinged with his screams in my mind. Every smile is fake, every touch tears me to shreds, every activity I do requires indescribable amounts of effort to even begin, everything I’m interested in I only pretend to be because I lost interest in everything I once loved back when I lost my innocence, my safety, and my peace.

 _I’m_ _not brave!_ I write instead.

“Every second of your life is brave!”

I don’t argue after that, not because I suddenly believe him, but because I suddenly don’t have the energy.

“Will you stay the night since you have to work in the morning?”

And just like that reality intrudes reminding me that the weekend is over and I cannot stay here indefinitely because the real world continues even when your entire life is wrecked.

I shrug. _I should probably sleep in my own bed at least occasionally. I don’t want them to rent out my room because it’s unoccupied_. I write listlessly.

Loki smiles though I can see the shadows in his expression. He doesn’t want me to leave either. “Then I shall see you tomorrow.” He says. “Or you can come back anytime you need.”

I nod, promising myself that I will give him some peace. I will not be a parasite. I can handle one night, and half a day away. I can. I have to. Otherwise soon I won’t be able to function at all without him, and that won’t work...

Loki touches my cheek, his thumb stroking over my skin, and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me. My eyes flicker down to his thin, chiseled lips and I watch them curve into a gentle sad smile. “Try to get some sleep.”

I nod, pointing a finger at him. _You too,_ it says.

He nods, then holds my hand as he rises with me. I gather all my things one handed, then back away slowly. He stretches his arm out between the bars keeping our hands connected as long as he can. Finally the connection breaks and I turn my back. hurrying away, feeling my chest already tightening with each step in the wrong direction.

“Come back if you need me!” he calls after me.

 _I need you!_ I write on the back of my hand as I walk. But I don’t turn around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm an anxiety ridden, paranoid person so I'm starting to think that my repeating "thank you so much for reading" at the end of every chapter is starting to sound super insincere in its repetitiveness. No one probably thinks that but just in case anyone does, I assure you all it is not! I cannot adequately express how much it means to me that people are reading this story and actually liking it and I just want to hug every single one of you and bake you all cookies. I'm really really so super duper grateful to each and every one of you. Thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> I hope you'll keep reading and keep liking it! 💕❤


	13. The Asshole Patrol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: mention of rape, bullying, anxiety attack.  
> I'm not too sure about the latter half of this chapter. The first part I really like cause it establishes some different conflict and complicates things in certain other ways. Plot, ya know?! The second half I'm not so sure if I like it. It's more of a filler... but eh.  
> Hope you like it anyway.

“Hey, Annie-Bananie, can I talk to you?” Lucas asks me right before lunch. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet today, barely even saying hello to me. I chalked it up to residual or reoccurring illness or something. He looks a little pale around the gills… “So… so I heard that you’re hanging out with… with the war criminal? Loki?”

My eyebrows hit my hairline. Word sure travels fast around here. And war criminal? That seems a bit excessive.

I shrug as if to say _so what?!_

Lucas fidgets. “Why? Why, Annie? Why do you hang out with him? He’s a murderer! No, damn it, Annie. Wait!”

He jumps in front of me as I turn away. I’m too indignant to even feel the instinctive shudder that passes through me at his sudden movement. I don’t have to listen to this. Lucas thinks he knows things about Loki. Well, he doesn’t know shit. He just blindly believes what he’s been told and spoon fed by the media; propaganda that wanted someone to blame! I don’t have to listen to him trash Loki. I know better!

“Listen. I don’t know what you’re doing but I know you’re not dumb, so you probably have a reason. Maybe you’re studying him? Mr. Stark mentioned that you might write a dissertation so you can get credit to finish your doctorate. Is that it? Are you writing it on psychopathy? Is he your prime case study?”

I snort. He sounds so hopeful, trying to make excuses for what he sees as inexcusable, and it makes me want to deck him.

“I’m not trying to insult you, Annie-Bananie.” He whines. “I just want to understand.”

You can’t. You won’t. Because you’ll refuse to try, and you won’t see what I see!

I turn my back to him.

He blows out a slow breath. “See, the… the thing is, the guys, they, uh… they don’t want you sitting with us anymore, unless, you know… you have a valid reason for… for hanging out down there and…” he breaks off as my spine stiffens at his hastily mumbled words. He plows onward. “…and they wanted me to ask you… they… they think you’re crazy for spending time with a murderer, and they thought if I asked you, you’d give me your real reasons. You know. Since we’re close. Ish.”

I turn back to him keeping my face perfectly neutral and blank. I position the case file I’m holding in such a way that he can’t see my clenched fist behind it. I just stare at him, my eyes hooded, my lips curled into a slightly disdainful sneer. So association with Loki is obviously a death knell to my lofty social goals and budding friendship base. Pity!

I know I’m coming across as an über-bitch but I can’t let him see how much it actually hurts. I’d liked the tentative feelings of connection I got with his crew on Friday, and I’d actually been prepared to try to put in more of an effort. But just goes to show ya… Because the way I see it, the choice Lucas is indirectly giving me here is Loki, or him and his friends. And that’s no contest. Never was; never will be!

He clears his throat awkwardly, blushing to the roots of his dark hair, then looks down at his hands. “I… I put in for a transfer to another lab. I... I was gonna pull it when… if… but now…”

I can’t hide the flinch from him this time. It feels like a literal slap in the face. But I don’t know why I expected anything more…

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, not meeting my eyes. “I’m really sorry, Annie. I never wanted to hurt you. I hope you… well, I hope you’ll be alright!” he finishes lamely then runs from the room with his tail tucked between his legs.

I stand there for long minutes, staring after him, feeling darkness encroaching. I force it back. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. Except Loki. And he won’t leave me! He won’t! He promised! But all of the superficial morons who take whatever they read at face value and won’t even ask question, all these dickheads who work in this building and therefore have access to the same restricted file I did, who could sow doubt about Loki’s guilt with minimal effort and research, they’re all too lazy, too complacent. These people with their judgements, and their accusations; they have no idea who Loki is. What he’s like! They live in their safe little bubbles with lab coats, and case files, and peanut butter sandwiches, and they skip happily through their days thinking that evil is locked up in the basement. They have no fucking clue what true evil really looks like! I do. And it doesn’t have forest green eyes!

And Lucas. He’s maybe the worst of them all! He never wanted to hurt me. Lucas the guy who takes a girl who doesn’t know anyone, and who can’t speak, to a party, shoves a beer at her, and then disappears never once thinking to check on her. Lucas, the almost friend who suddenly writes me off when I’m associated with Loki.

The Psycho! Am I writing my dissertation on psychopathy? Maybe I should write it on shallow idiots instead! I’d have loads of case studies around here!

I slam down the file I’m holding, realizing that it’s speckled with blood. I’ve torn the scabs open again. Crap! Automatically my body longs for Loki, but I can’t go now. Because half my lunch hour has already passed and if I go now I won’t be able to tear myself away again until at least tonight, and I can’t miss any more work.

I feel claustrophobic suddenly, even in this airy, spacious lab. The screams are living things trying to claw and scratch their way out of my chest. I toss the case file onto the table in front of me and push my way out the door. I speed walk down the hall to the fire exit throwing the door open. I need air. I need to breathe. But breathing for me isn’t solved with air anymore. It’s solved with Loki. And he’s not here. I rush forward to the very edge of the platform of the fire stairs, then stand gripping the railing tightly, shoulders hunched, and head bowed, trying to breathe, focusing on the world around me.

I can hear birds chirping, the melodic hoo-hooting of a pigeon. I can smell the change of season in the air, leaves shifting color, the brittle, earthy scent of fall descending. I like fall. It is my favourite season right after winter. Everything is warm in fall, everything except the weather but that’s not too cold. Yet.

Four more hours. Just four more hours. I’ve already survived the whole night without him; admittedly l didn’t sleep, but still. I can get through four more hours and then I can see him.

I raise my head to look out at the swaying trees, seeing what I sensed before; the leaves changing color from warm greens to cool oranges, yellows, and reds.

Soft clanging raps have me swiveling around so fast I bruise my hip on the metal handrail of the fire stairs. Mr. Stark stands in the open doorway, the wind whipping his dark hair out of its carefully gelled and styled ‘do.

“You solid, kiddo?”

I suppress a smile. Science joke: yes I am solid, but I have liquid inside me, and sometimes I pass gas.

I nod. I’m getting there.

“Mind if I join you?”

I shrug. Free country.

Mr. Stark comes to stand beside me. “Lucas told me to check in on you.”

I stiffen.

“I would have done it anyway. I saw his request for transfer.” I can feel Mr. Stark’s eyes on the side of my stoic face. “I can deny it…”

I shake my head then pat my pockets looking for my notebook. I’d left it in the lab. Rats!

“Here,” Mr. Stark passes me his phone.

I take it gratefully and type, _Don’t deny his request. Please. At least not for my benefit. It wouldn’t be fair to keep him where he doesn’t want to be._

“I don't think it’s because he doesn’t want to be around you, kiddo. I just don’t think he gets it. You know, what’s going on with you, what you’re doing.”

_I don’t owe him an explanation. I don’t owe him anything!_

“I never said you did. And I’m not saying that what he’s doing is right or okay. I’m just saying that I get his point of view. But I get yours more.”

_Do you?_

He grins wryly. “Yea, I’m startin' to. It took me most of the weekend to get used to the idea. But I watched the two of you for a while, and I won’t apologize for that!” he says defensively.

 _You don’t have to. I understand. Doesn’t mean that I like it, but I understand, and if it helps you accept this then I mind it even less. You didn’t listen did you?_ I ask, suddenly concerned for Loki’s privacy where his past is concerned. I do want him to tell people the truth, but I know that he needs to be the one to make that decision for himself.

“Nah, I wouldn’t go that far. I just wanted to make sure that he doesn’t throttle you.”

_He won’t._

“I’m starting to believe it.”

_So are we good, sir? Are you still mad at me?_

“I was never mad at you, kiddo” he says gruffly. “I was worried. I’m not good with worried. I never really had to worry about people much in my life, so when one comes along, well, let’s just say I usually react the wrong way.”

I frown confused. _But WHY were you so worried? I mean you don’t really know me…_

“True, but I feel protective of you kiddo. What you’ve been through…” he shakes his head as I wrap my arms around my middle. “I just wanna make sure no one else hurts you. You’ve been through too much already. And as for me hardly knowing you… well, let’s just say that that’s only sort of true: I only just met you, but I’ve known _about_ you for quite some time. I followed your career ever since I read about you when you set a New York State record by being the youngest girl to get into Columbia at age 11. I read most of your papers as they got published, and I was waiting for you to graduate with your PhD, and then I was gonna reach out to you to see if you maybe wanted to colab on some projects. But then… well, you’ll know better than me what happened then.”

He stands beside me, giving me space, looking out over the compound grounds with his hands in his pockets, while I shiver beside him, remembering too, and mourning the loss of everything _they_ took from me, the most recent casualty being this amazing opportunity I could have had to work with one of my heroes as an equal contributor to research.

“You cold?” he asks, and I shake my head.

“I’d still want to work with you.” He says now watching me.

I look at him wide eyed. _But I never graduated._

“But you were _this_ close. In my book that little piece of paper doesn’t make much difference. You put in the time. And besides I thought we were gonna fix the graduation issue.”

_I nod. But how can I contribute? I mean… if I don’t talk?_

“You don’t gotta talk to research, kiddo. And you don’t have to use your voice to write. And you can type just fine, I see. And fast! What’s you WPM?”

_150._

“Ha! One-fifty-five!” He gloats good naturedly.

_I smell a challenge!_

“Bring it, Pipsqueak!”

I grin. Then, _I should get back to work before my boss notices that I’m skiving off my hours AGAIN!_

“You do that. I’ll keep your boss distracted.” He winks at me as I pass back his phone. When I turn back in the doorway he’s standing at the railing looking up at the sky, whistling; distracting himself.

I head back to work, a new feeling of hope blooming in me and loosening my still too tight chest ever so slightly.

This new fragile little bubble of hope buoys me through the rest of the day, and by the time 5pm rolls around I feel secure enough in my questionable mental state to make a quick stop at the library and get Loki some new books including _A Clash of Kings_ the second in the _A Song of Ice and Fire series, A Wrinkle in Time,_ and _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone._ Carrying my bounty, plus something extra I requisitioned from J.A.R.V.I.S. last night, in a cloth bag that the nice librarian gave me, I start to head off toward the basement. I’m just walking along the first floor hallway when I hear someone calling after me.

“Hey, Annie. Wait up!”

I turn to see Agent Brenner galumphing toward me. He’s wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt; his ripped chest seriously putting heavy stress on those poor buttons. Sickening!

I keep walking, but he catches up easily and falls into step beside me.

“Can I talk to you?” He doesn’t wait for any kind of response which would have been ‘No, stay far the fuck away from me!’ but I can’t articulate it anyhow.

“You need to stay away from the Psycho God Freak.”

I stomp on the breaks. Full stop in the middle of the hallway. Excuse me?!

Agent Dickface skids to a stop beside me and I glare at him irritably, unable to believe that this BS is happening twice in one day.

He winces under my stink eye. “Yea, I know, I’m an ass. I had too much to drink that night and… anyway, this isn’t about that. I was stupid. But that’s nothing compared to what _he_ is capable of.”

And he says 'he' like he’s referring to a fungal wart on his ball sack. “He’s dangerous. I was there in New York. Not active duty but I was manning one of the vans in the streets. And helping the senior agents oversee evac. It was chaos. A fucking bloodbath. And he orchestrated it. He _enjoyed_ it.”

No. No, he did not! No to both! But I can’t say it. Another downside to having a reluctance to speak is that you can’t cut someone off when they’re spouting inane crap. Not only is Dylan “Dickface" Brenner barfing up totally asinine and infuriating shit, but if he actually thinks I would ever dip a _toe_ into his pool of arrogant ignorance again after what he did, then he’s seriously delusional.

Some hand signals are universal though and I consider tossing one of those at him, but think better of it. Just ignore him. He is drywall! No, he is the mold within the drywall. A single mold spore!

He steps closer to me in the emptying hallway, and I stiffen, feeling my stomach pole vault over my spleen.

“Stay away from him before you get hurt!”

The words _may_ truly be coming from some twisted recess of concern for me, but to my ringing ears they sound very much more like a threat. Coupled with the low tone, and this look of cold, calculating ruthlessness in his eyes, all my finely tuned internal alarm bells are clanging Mach 10. My fingers curl into my fists without me really even noticing. But when I feel the first lick of pain I loosen them.

Loki!

Get to him. Get away from Shithead here and get to the one who actually helps me overcome my panic attacks. Not induce them.

I arch my back to put distance between me and Agent Brenner, but then he steps back and I can breathe a little better. “Just think about what I said!” He pseudo-threatens me again, then sidesteps into a little broom closet sized room that I now see is his office, if the dusty plaque on the door is to be believed. Well from now on I will be taking the long way down to the basement to avoid this hallway.

As the door closes in my face I hear heels clicking from behind me. Next second a tall, leggy blonde in a tight pencil skirt rounds me.

She gazes at me for a long second while I stare back nonplussed. Now what does she want from me? I’m just about to turn and leave, because, quite frankly, I don’t care, when her cherry stained lips twist into a nasty smile.

“Your psycho boyfriend ask you to the end of month party yet?”

That crap-fest is coming up again? I will not be attending. And boyfriend. WTF?! I know she obviously means Loki but I have no idea who this catty bitch is and why she’s sharpening her claws on me, specifically. I turn on my heel and start to walk away.

She calls after me: “If they ever let him out of that rat hole and you do have the guts to go anywhere with him, be sure to bring your rape whistle!”

I don’t think about it. At the sound of the R-word I whirl around and march back towards her, getting in her face, appalled and disgusted that she just implied that Loki would ever do _that_ to me! Would hurt me like that. I take a huge breath and my mouth opens. Her eyes widen, round as amber colored coins.

But I gag, instantly slamming my hand over my mouth. _No._ The urge to tell her off is gurgling in my throat, the words cramming upwards and ramming against the wall I built to stop them that’s acting like a dam and choking me with their weight and presence. I can’t. I can’t let them out. If I did, all of the filth and grime I’d stored inside me over the last two years would come spewing out with it, and this _lady_ does not deserve to see me like that. The sting from my palms focuses my attentions elsewhere, my fingers becoming slippery with blood, and she’s smiling again.

“’Course, maybe you’re already fucking him. Through those bars. Are there bars? I'm sure there are. I bet if you press your nasty ass right up against them and bend over he should be able to reach your gash nicely, right?” She sidles up closer to me and I feel the need to vomit all over her pretentiously pale pink shirt and that pristine skirt. “Sorry, hun, I don’t mean to pry, I’m just curious. See, Dylan’s never killed anyone and I just wanted to know what it’s like to have a murdering psychopath's dick inside you. Bet it’s huge, huh? The bad guys are always hung! Is he violent with you?” she cocks her head batting her too long, too thick, obviously fake lashes at me. “When he hits you, does it turn you on?”

“Veronica? What are you doing out here?”

Agent Butthead is back. It takes my agonized brain a second to catch up when he slips an arm around her waist and pulls her to his side. Of course. They’re together. What a lovely couple! And that would also be why she hates me. She probably heard the rumors after the last party and thinks I’m after her man. You know, because my overzealous vagina probably isn’t satisfied with all the hate fucking it’s getting from Loki. The bitch is jealous. God, I’m gonna be sick.

Agent Brenner leans sideways, his lips in her hair and whispers in a carrying voice. “Don’t bother babe, I already tried. He’s gotten to her. She’s too far gone to see reason. Maybe Mr. Stark can save her in time, but I doubt it. I hope so though. She’s nice, in a retarded sort of way. That’s probably why the Psycho snagged her up so quick. He sensed her weakness, and you know he likes easy prey. The sick, twisted motherfucker.”

I’ve had enough!

I heft the bag full of hardcover books and swing it as hard and fast as I can at Agent Brenner’s ribs.

 _ **Ass**_ hole!

He blows air at the unexpected impact, and stumbles back, inadvertently shoving dear little Veronica, who trips into the wall on her nonsensically high heels. Serves ‘em right!

I glare at them both then turn and flounce away toward the stairs to the basement, fists clenched and ready to come out swinging should either one of them be dumb enough to open their traps one more time, or even come after me.

Suddenly I hear Agent Brenner laughing behind me and the sound cuts down my spine like a scalpel. “See,” he calls loudly. “Hopeless case!”

I don’t turn to the goading even as Veronica agrees shrilly. I make sure to slam the door to the basement. Then I run. I know I’ll be safe when I get down to Cellblock B since I know that neither Agent Asshat nor his ho-bag secretary have security clearance to get in there.

Loki picks up on my turmoil immediately, though obviously he senses that something is different today because his brow wrinkles as he stares at me intently. “What happened?” he asks, passing my notebook out to me between the bars. I shove the books through in exchange, putting a little too much oomph behind the thrust, still too much adrenaline pumping through my veins. The air leaves him in a rush as the three hardcovers collide with his chest.

I wince. _Sorry!_ I write the word on the back of my hand, wanting to apologize immediately instead of wasting seconds searching for a fresh page.

He waves it off. “I’ve had worse.” Then he puts the bag aside choosing to focus on me first before he looks at what I brought him. It calms me slightly, that he cares. “What happened?” he repeats cupping my elbows and pulling me closer.

_Met the asshole brigade. Twice. They came to “warn" me.”_

“Warn you about what?”

I jab a finger at his chest.

“Is that all?” he scoffs.

I shrug. I'm glad that he’s taking their assholery so calmly, instead of insisting that they’re right and that I need to keep my distance. Like _that’s_ gonna happen!

I hesitate for a second. I al _most talked..._ My tiny cramped writing imitates what would have been a tiny voiced statement.

His eyes fly to mine.

_I was close. This bitch was spewing slime and said ~~that you would~~ something really horrible and I almost told her off. I wanted to… I wanted to tell her that you would NEVER do that! But then I couldn’t…_

“It scared you?!”

Yes. Yes it did. Scared me. What a simple childlike word to describe paralyzing terror.

“Do not do that, love. Not for me…”

Who else is ever going to matter enough to do it for? But I don’t write it. Because it’s not going to happen. I was as close as I could conceivably get today and I still couldn’t do it. What else is going to be volatile enough to shake the words lose from within me if not the horrid R-word applied to Loki?

“Talk to me.” He says pointing to the pad and pen still in my hands. I look up at him helplessly. I can’t tell him any more. I can’t tell him about the screams in my head, threatening to break through the dam of my throat and never ever stop again. I can’t tell him about those, because once he learns that I hear him screaming in my weakest moments then he’ll really, irrevocably think I’m crazy. And I can’t tell him where it comes from. Can’t tell him why…

“Annie?”

I swallow and change the subject. _I talked to Mr. Stark today._

Chicken!

He looks at me sadly for a minute, then lets me get away with the cowardly avoidance technique. “What did the Man of Iron have to say?”

_That he wanted to collaborate with me on some research and help me finish my education._

“Will you consent to his offer?”

_Probably. I always wanted to work with him. He’s one of my scholarly heroes. And I’d like to finish my PhD. Only problem is I’d need to find a new research topic since the prof that oversaw me last time stole all my notes and published my mostly finished paper as his after I dropped out…_

“Excuse me?”

I shrug.

“Why did you not complain?” He sounds infuriated.

_I had other things on my mind…_

His face softens. “Can anything be done now?”

I shake my head. _I heard the professor was discredited and he lost his tenure but the research is out there… I can’t write on it again._

Loki looks miffed.

_But I’ll find something else. I had lots of ideas back then. ~~I just need to~~_

“Just need to what?”

Damn. He could still read what I scribbled out. _Just need to find the enthusiasm for the research again. Passion isn’t something I’ve been feeling a lot of in recent years._

Loki looks at me sadly, then reaches out to brush his fingertips down my cheek. Then he once more changes the subject for me. “What did you bring me? May I look into the bag?”

I make an inviting gesture with my hand, and he immediately snatches up the tote, brimming with excitement like a little kid. He sits on the floor cross legged, and I sink down too.

He takes his time, pulling out each book one by one and flipping them open to read the inside jacket first. By the time he pulls out the last item, I’m sitting biting my lip in nervous anticipation, my explanation already written.

“What is this?”

 _A model kit._ He mentioned to me on Saturday that he used to like building things when he was a kid, so I had J.A.R.V.I.S. order me a step-by-step 1000+ piece scale model of the Titanic. I figured I’d combine Midgardian History with something he loved, kind of a half assed reverse psychology trick to get him maybe a little more in our history. To that end I downloaded an audio book about the Titanic for him to listen to while he builds this, since I can’t exactly spout the facts to him, and I don’t want to write all that down.

He’s still staring dumbfounded at the rectangular box in his hands.

_Do you not like it?_

“I love it. This is amazing. Will you help me build it?”

_You want me to help?_

“Of course!”

_I’m clumsy. I might break things._

“I shall be vigilant.”

I cannot refuse his excitement and so I nod.

The rest of the evening is spent building the model. The audio book plays in the background, and I can tell that Loki is interested. He’s like a little boy with a new toy as he lays out, plots, and assembles. I mostly hold pieces together, keep things steady, or pass him equipment. He smiles at me happily with a pencil stuck sideways in his mouth, and laughs unapologetically when I hammer in some tiny nails with the equally tiny hammer, missing completely hitting my fingers and the model.

“You are mutilating my ship.” He mutters crossly, then bursts out laughing when I look up at him in dismay. His hand snakes out between the bars and pokes my nose. “It is alright. We can paint over it.” He is uncontrollably excited about the painting part of the assembly, and after he coerces me to split his dinner with him we hunker down and get it done. Finally, the Titanic stands, proudly glistening with wet paint, in the center of the tiny room.

Loki meanwhile is frowning. “So all of those people perished because the humans in charge were to arrogant to see that no ship is ever unsinkable?”

_Essentially._

“How is this supposed to make me feel more sympathetic with your kind?” I can tell he’s mostly teasing, but a little bit serious.

_I’m not trying to make you feel sympathetic. Humans are stupid and arrogant and quite often really horrible. I agree. I’m just trying to show you that our history is interesting._

“Aah, well that you have accomplished.”

_Mission accomplished!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yea, still not sure about the second half but it'll do. Next chapter gets quite a bit heavier again.  
> Hope Tony has redeemed himself for his slight dickishness from a few chapters ago.  
> Also when I was writing this chapter I couldnt decide between the phrase "asshole patrol" and "asshole brigade". Both sounded so funny and descriptive to me. So I used one in the story and one as the chapter title. Lol!  
> Anyhoo, thanks for reading!


	14. Bad Dreams and Better Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for not updating yesterday. I had a show I was running and I had to set up amd take down and all that jazz, as well as run around all day coordinating things. So when I got home I basically collapsed in front of the TV and fell asleep eating pizza and watching Supernatural. Lol. A successful day all around, if I do say so myself!  
> Anyway, TRIGGER WARNINGS: nightmares, rape flashbacks, panic attacks, and I guess maybe abuse, even though what happens is unintentional... I dunno. Just be careful as always.  
> Also fluff and... something else! I'll let it surprise ya. Enjoy!

Hours later I sit straight up in bed, my arms and legs thrashing, tangled in the sheet, screaming, screaming my throat raw; un ungodly awful duet with the voice screaming in my head.

The blankets are everywhere; they’re tying me down, smothering me, restraining me, I need to get out. Out, out, out. My lungs burn. I can’t breathe.

I roll sideways on instinct, crashing to the ground in a graceless heap as the blankets slither off me to stay in the bed. My knees and elbows throb dully, but I barely feel it. I stuff my fist into my mouth and bite down hard on my knuckles to stifle my screams. They cut off in a wet gurgle, like the last horrible rattling breath of something dying, but the ones in my head continue a never ending cacophony of terror that mocks me by being in the voice I most long to hear right now.

My heart is slamming in my ribs and every time I blink, close my eyes, the nightmare starts again. Dark. Wet. Loud. Colors. _Agony!_

My fists are clenched but I don’t dig in. I want to let these wounds heal, have this convoluted idea that maybe if the ones on the outside heal, the ones on the inside can start to as well. I’m breathing in short, shallow, gasping bursts that don’t reach my searing lungs.

Loki’s face explodes into my mind, so clear as if I could just reach out a hand and touch his cheek, his hair, his lips. I need him, need to get to him. On autopilot I scramble up. I give myself simple tasks to accomplish to make the seemingly insurmountable mountain of things I need to do before I can walk out my door easier to bear.

Now you need to put on your pants, Annie. Now your shoes, Annie. Now grab a sweater, Annie. Put it on, Annie. Don’t forget your ID card, Annie. Lock your door, Annie.

I stumble down the hallway, weaving side to side, and scraping my shoulders alternatingly on both walls of the narrow hallway. I don’t really remember much of the trip down until the cold air of the basement level slaps me in the face. I run down the stairs almost tripping and tumbling headlong the rest of the way. My feet thump an urgent rhythm across the stone floor. Then I’m at Cellblock B and inside it and in front of Loki’s cell. It still smells faintly like the paint we’d used to decorate the model with. He’s lying on his cot, asleep. A part of my knows I should let him sleep, knows that it’s rare that he does without me here, but also rare when I am here because he keeps himself awake to stop me from slipping into nightmares. But I need him. I need him before my lungs implode completely.

I rattle the bars. The noise isn’t loud enough to rouse him. I look around wildly. I throw my pen at him; miss. Desperation mounting I slip off a shoe and throw that. It bounces off his shoulder and drops out of sight behind the bed.

He’s on me before my shoe has reached the floor. His hand pushes between the bars, fingers like iron rods wrapped around my throat, lifting me bodily off the ground. His face is contorted with anger and hatred, his eyes open, but unseeing. He is still dreaming, still trapped in his memories, lashing out at whoever torments him in his nightmares, turning the tables on them by becoming the aggressor and turning them into the victim.

I gasp and choke, my feet kicking wildly out at him but only hitting the bars resulting in excruciating pain in my shoeless foot. My fingers scrabble at his arm which is unyielding and hard as stone. His chest is bare, muscles rippling with threatening power in the moonlight that pours in through the window. One of my hands reaches for his face, scraping my fingernails down his cheek. I need to wake him. He needs to wake up!

I slap him. His eyes focus. The frosty green softening into bleary, warm emeralds. He blinks rapidly. “Annie?”

It hits him in a second what is going on and how he’s holding me. His fingers spring open and I drop, swaying on my feet. I back away, coughing violently, hands scrabbling at my throat. So much for him helping me breathe! I’m shaking!

“No. No. No no no no! Annie? Annie, are you alright. I am sorry, Annie, I am so sorry!” His voice is filled with desperation. It’s getting louder, bordering on hysterical shouting.

I’d heard him! All of a sudden this fact that I’ve known since I first heard his voice hits me with the force of a speeding train. I’d heard him that night! That night while lights burst overhead, and rain poured down my face, and rough hands held me down, cruelly squeezing my wrists, ankles, and throat, while my body felt like it was being ripped open through my spine, I had heard his voice screaming in my head. Screaming with the agony that I could not scream with. And it hasn’t gone away since. I hear him in my mind, in my dreams, whenever things get bad. Worse. Him! Why him? I don’t know. I didn’t know then, I didn’t know after I figured out it was him, and I don’t know it now. I don’t know! I don’t know!

I'm freaking out completely!

My legs give out and I’m falling forwards. Loki lunges to catch my head before it bounces off the metal bars, his arms wrapped awkwardly around them to support my head and grasp my shoulder. “Annie?” he starts to shake me. “Annie. Annie! Dammit, look at me.”

I do. His green eyes are intense, worried, miserable, wretched. “I’m sorry, love. I am so sorry. I swear I did not know it was you. I swear it. I was dreaming. I would never hurt you, I promise. Please, Annie, please. I am so sorry!”

He keeps repeating it desperately, frantically, until my eyes focus on his face, until my ears make sense of his words, and until my hands come up to press themselves over his mouth, stemming the rapid flow of words. His hands capture my wrists, lightly hanging on to me. His skin is hot where mine is icy cold. It feels good. Soothing.

He mumbles against my palms and I lift them to hear him. “I am so sorry. Please, please tell me you forgive me.”

I nod repeatedly.

His head falls forward against the bars. His grip on my wrists shifts and he pulls them downwards, pressing my palms to his chest. It’s less for me I know, it’s for him this time, reassuring himself that I won’t pull away, that I’m not afraid despite of what just happens. And I’m not. I’m really not. Not of him anyway. I was shocked, yes, triggered and frightened by the lack of oxygen. But I know he won’t intentionally hurt me. I know he wasn’t acting in control, know it was my fault, really, for startling him awake so forcefully. I’m surprised myself that I’m so calm about this now.

But I’m okay. I’m surrounded by him, his scent, his voice still mumbling apologies, the feel of his skin beneath my fingers. My hands slide down all by themselves and he lets go probably thinking I mean to pull away. It’s the farthest thing from my mind though. I bring them down to his tight abdomen and rest them there, hearing his sharp inhale of surprise. His eyes snap to mine and there’s something burning in their forest green. Something other than the regret. That’s good. That’s what I want. I want him to forget what just happened, to not blame himself for it, to not feel guilty.

One of his hands comes up to cup my chin, the other sifts into the messy mop of my hair, cradling my head at the base of my skull. We lean in simultaneously. His eyes are alive with fire, searching mine carefully. I let him see my resolve and my utter lack of questioning.

He leans closer and my breath catches. He groans and then suddenly pulls me the rest of the way into him, and then our lips are touching. Just barely- and then he stops.

I make a low audible sound of protest in my throat and his lips curve at the sound of my voice, however slight. Then he tilts my head and angles his, positioning us as optimally as possible, considering the bars that restrict our access to each other. They dig into each of my cheekbones but I don’t notice anymore as his firm, yet soft lips urge mine gently further apart, making way for the hot velvet sweep of his tongue. I exhale tremulously and he swallows the sound taking it into himself like it powers him. He pulls away slowly, very lightly snagging my lower lip between his teeth and tugging, then his mouth is gone.

My eyes slide open to find him still there, practically nose to nose with me, eyes burning into mine; emerald hued fire! Both our breathing is elevated, and I can feel my heartbeat kicking in my chest. His eyes flicker down and his hand comes up to cover the left side of my chest, and for the first time I realize; understand that he can actually _hear_ my heart. His hearing is that good.

“Alright?” he asks so softly I can barely hear him. Clearly my ears are not nearly as advanced.

My hands suddenly feel awkward resting on his belly and so I draw them back into my lap.

“Annie? Annie, love, please answer me. Are you alright? Was that alright?”

I nod my head yes.

“Good,” Loki smiles. “good!”

 _I wish I could hold you…_ I scribble, not meeting his eyes.

He’s silent for a moment. “Do you? Even after earlier?”

I nod. _And after just now even more than before._

He smiles sweetly. “I am sorry about what I-“

I cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips. _If you apologize needlessly again I’m gonna leave._

He smiles. “No, you wont.”

 _No, I won’t._ I concede.

“But you have made your point. So I will say it just one last time. I truly did not realize it was you. I did not even know anyone was there. I swear to you I was dreaming. I am sorry.”

I nod, accepting his apology as I haven’t before. Then I write again. _I know you didn’t mean it. I know… it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not scared of you. Now can we please forget what happened?_

“Everything?” he asks suggestively waggling his eyebrows.

I smile abashedly. _Maybe not EVERYTHING!_

He chuckles, picking up my hand and flipping it over to check my palms.

_I didn’t. I stopped myself._

“Well done.” He lifts my hand and plants a kiss in the center of my palm.

I bring my hand sideways and up, tracing my fingers lightly over the scratches I left on his cheek, vividly red against his pale porcelain skin. _I'm sorry._

"No." he says firmly. "Do not apologize. You have nothing to feel sorry for. You did what you needed to do! And I deserve this!"

I shake my head wildly. _It wasn't your fault._

"Nor was it yours. So stop blaming yourself."

I shrug. _You first!_

He sighs. "It appears we are at an impasse."

_It appears so!_

"If I agree to not let my guilt rip me apart entirely, will you agree to stop looking at me like I am a puppy on who's tail you've accidentally trodden?"

I snort a laugh at his analogy. _On one condition._

"Blackmail, love? It becomes you."

_Not blackmail. It's called a compromise._

"Well, what is it you desire?"

_Gimme back my shoe._

He laughs. "What will you give me in return?"

_THAT'S_ _blackmail!_

"Mm, I know. I am quite proficient at it."

_If you give it back to me then I won't throw the other one at you as well. How's that?_

He grins widely. "I suppose I have no choice but to agree to your trade. You are a ruthless negotiator!" He reaches behind him and dangles my shoe by the laces behind the bars, just out of my reach. I snatch at it but he pulls it away, grinning wickedly.

I shove him in the chest and he keels over backwards, acting as if I've K.O.ed him with his brother's hammer. As he dramatically feigns death he releases my shoe. I grab it back and slip it on, leaving him to expire theatrically on the floor next to his cot.

When I look up from retying my shoe he's right there, looking at me through the bars, face only inches away. "You would just uncaringly leave me there, mortally wounded?"

_Mm-hm!_

"Heartless wench!"

I grin.

He grins back then reaches for me, snaking one hand around the back of my neck and pulling me closer. His lips land on my forehead, which is disappointing because I'd wanted them a little further down!

_Can you do that again? Somewhere else?_

"Where?” His grin grows to wicked proportions. He looks up at me from beneath his lowered brows. On anyone else the look would be threatening, and I can see that Loki knows how to make it so on his own face. But right now he’s trying to make me laugh. And it works. A soft sound of laughter bubbles up my throat and slips past my lips. His eyes light up at the sound of my voice.

“That was twice in one day I got to hear your sweetest tones. It must be my lucky day.” His fingers cup my chin and he leans down to capture my lips once more, even as I blush delicately at what he just said.

“How was that?” he asked quietly as he pulls back.

_That was the second best kiss I've ever had._

“Second?”

I nod.

“Who has kissed you better than that?” He sounds slightly put out.

_You did! About ten minutes ago._

A grin breaks across his face as he reaches out and ruffles my hair. “Oh, you…”

I laugh again, and more unguarded sounds slip past my lips, making him smile even bigger.

_Tell me about Asgard?_

His face grows somber as he reads. “What would you like to know?”

_Whatever you feel like talking about._

He tugs me down to lay on the ground with him, then takes a deep breath. He starts to talk telling me about his home. He talks about the castle, the mountains behind it, the lake around it, the Rainbow Bridge. He tells me about his horses, about riding through the village. Then he talks about people. He tells me of his parents, spends a lot of time talking about his mother. He loves her deeply, I can tell, and it’s breaking his heart that she betrayed his trust, and that he is now being kept away from her. He tells me about Lady Sif and the Warriors Three: Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg. I learn about Heimdall, the all-seeing, golden sword keeper, and about the Bifrost. Somewhere around this point I fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo... looks like we may be moving beyond friendship now. Slowly. I wasnt entirely sure how it would look to have Annie so calm after basically being attacked by Loki even though he didnt do it on purpose, given her past. I'm not sure if its believable, but keep in mind tht every survivor is different, and every experience for individual survivors is also different depending on the people they're with. Me for example I hate being touched surprisingly by basically everyone but theres two people who could practically do anything with me and I wouldn't mind. I dont understand it but it has something to do with how much i trust them, and how safe I feel around them. And in Annie's situation theres no one she trusts more and feels safer around than Loki, so to me this made sense. Hope it doesn't seem too outlandish. Anyway if you have the time or inclination to, then please do let me know what you think, especially about the two slowly starting to take steps beyond friendship. We'll see what develops. Thank you for reading, and an extra thank you if you read this humungous rambling end note!


	15. Phonecall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS are heavily in effect for this chapter. Mentions of rape and rapists, panic attack, flashback, implied incest, guilt, someone getting away with a crime, and anxiety.  
> We get a few more snippets about what specifically happened to Annie. There will be more about her past very soon.  
> In the meantime it's more Loki fluff and comfort which is always nice.

  
I’m back with him after work. We’d both spent the rest of the night unbothered by bad dreams, and my workday was uneventful. It was somewhat disconcerting in the morning without Lucas there, but I’d had almost 24 hours to get used to the idea, so it didn’t rattle me like it did that other time. I still felt sad every time I looked over at his empty work station, and the silence in the absence of his chatter was almost deafening. Eventually I’d plugged in my laptop and played music softly in the background.

On my walks through the compound I’d gotten a few more looks, some concerned, some quizzical, some downright condescending. A few people had shaken their heads or whispered behind their hands pointing at me as I passed, as if my friendship with Loki was somehow a personal affront to them.

But when Loki and I sit on the floor, him inside his cell, me outside, our shoulders touching through the bars, hands intertwined, I forget all my annoyance. Loki has my phone balanced on his knee as it plays him John Denver’s _Annie’s Song;_ the one my mom chose my name after. He insists on listening to it on a loop because he enjoys it, and because it reminds him of me. My mother chose very aptly he says.

On the fifth play through the song gets interrupted by my phone ringing. Speak of the devil! My eyes close as my body tightens. No one calls me. No one except…

“Annie Ellis’s cellular device? Loki Odinson speaking?”

My eyes snap open. Loki has my phone to his ear, having picked it up and answered it as if doing so for me was the most natural thing in the world.

He listens intently. “Yes, ma’am. Yes. That is correct. I am a friend from work.” He glances at me sideways throwing me a shadow of a wink as one side of his mouth curls upwards, reminding me that yesterday we took steps beyond the friend territory. My face heats and my lips tingle in pleasant remembrance.

“Yes, ma’am. Yes. I fully intend to. I swear it. Yes. Very well. Please hold.”

He passes the phone to me, squeezing my hand that he still holds.

I have to extricate it from his clutches though because I need it to handle this phone call. His fingers cup my knee instead. I hold the phone to my ear with one hand and tap the microphone with my nails on the other hand.

“Sweetheart? Are you there?” my mother asks.

I tap again even though I know she’s waiting, hoping, praying to hear my voice.

A softly disappointed sigh washes over the miles between us, arrowing guilt straight into my heart.

“How are you?”

I tap once even though that means yes. Two taps means no, but I can’t rally answer this question for her. If she wanted a proper answer she should have texted.

“This Loki fellow? He’s your friend?”

I glance up at this Loki fellow, who’s watching me with one elegantly arched eyebrow. Of course he can hear my mothers quiet voice through the phone even when he’s not pressing the thing to his ear.

Tap.

“Is he good to you?”

Tap.

“Does he help?”

Tap.

“Does he know?”

Tap tap. I studiously avoid looking at Loki but feel his fingers tighten slightly on my knee.

My mother sighs again. Then, “We’ll talk about it later.”

No, we wont.

“You need to check the article I just emailed to you, honey. I’m sorry!”

No. Not again!

“I’m so sorry, baby. But this guy is a suspect in over twenty cases in four different states. Just… just take a quick peek okay. We need to know if it’s him… If he's one of them.”

And just like that all the warmth that Loki had instilled in me since I got here today evaporates. The blood drains from my face and my body sags. I feel Loki’s hands gripping my shoulders, whether to hold me up or to steady me, I don’t know. He pushes me back slightly, making my limp head flop, then angles down searching my gaze. I let my eyes meet his and let him see the fear, the despair, and the hopelessness I feel.

My mother is still talking, her voice sounding tinny from the floor where my phone had fallen to when it slipped from my numb fingers. Loki pulls me into his side wrapping an arm around my shoulders, awkwardly because the bars are in the way. He picks up my phone and hangs up, getting rid of my mother’s shrill voice which was ratcheting up my anxiety.

“What has happened?”

I don’t answer, instead I allow myself to the count of thirty, leaning into him, my face turned sideways pressing my nose into his shoulder to inhale his comforting scent, then I sit up and point to my phone knowing that if I don’t get on with it, my mother will be calling back soon.

And just as he hands it back to me she does, the high pitched ringing burrowing into my ears like an ice pick. I decline the call and open my email.

“What is wrong?”

I don’t meet his eyes, focusing intently on my phone screen as if it actually matters, and see that I have over 100 new messages since the last time I checked my inbox. A quick glance shows me that they’re likely all spam, and the only one that matters is the one at the very top. Sender: my mom, recipient: me, forwarded from: my dad’s work email, CC: Sergeant Erik Hendrickson of the SoCal police department. Subject: a line of red hearts.

I open it, feeling my heart pounding in my throat. There is no message, just the link to an article. As I click the link I hope desperately that for once Mr. Stark’s superior tech will crap out and the Wi-Fi signal won’t work down here in the basement. But it does, and I’m taken to a page that looks simple and boring. Small black text on white background. I don’t bother to read, and scroll downwards looking for the picture. There has to be a picture or else my mother wouldn’t have sent it to me.

It’s a mugshot. He’s tall, heavyset, with greasy brown hair, pierced lips and eyebrows and a neck tattoo. I try not to read the little blurb below the picture but it’s like my eyes are drawn to it and the words are being shouted at me. _The 41 year old man has been arrested for multiple counts of rape and sexual assault that span at least 4 states and 9 counties._

I slam my phone down just as it starts to ring again. I rip my hand from Loki’s and draw up my knees, smashing my palms over my ears in an effort to stifle the blood curdling, ear splitting ringing. I hear it stop and know that Loki has hung up, but I don’t look up, rocking myself, eyes squeezed shut. My whole body is trembling and I feel vaguely nauseous.

It wasn’t him!

“Annie?” Loki’s voice sounds somewhere off to my right. He’s close but he isn’t touching me. “Are you alright?”

I don’t react, still rocking. I have to tell my mom. Have to tell her that he isn’t one of them and that she still doesn’t have more people to blame for the obliteration of her daughter; still won’t see any justice done to at least one of them. She’ll be heartbroken. Again!

“Do you… know this man?”

My head snaps up and I see that Loki is holding my phone looking at the picture. Reading the blurb below it. Finding out. About me. Figuring me out!

His eyes come up from the article and I turn my face away. I can’t meet his gaze, don’t want to see the questions in his eyes. Specific questions now, ones that I still won't be able to answer.

I hold my hand out blindly for my phone and he passes it to me, having the foresight to close down the article first. The reply I type to my mother which also goes out to Sergeant Hendrickson since I hit reply all is simple. _No._ I press send wishing I could send the cold dread that has curdles in my stomach away just as easily and quickly.

Taking a deep breath I look up at Loki. He's crouched on the floor behind his bars, watching me closely. Now that it’s over I feel drained, and weary, and sick. And it’s all for nothing. Because it wasn’t him. It never is. It’s never any of them. Any of _his_ friends.

“Love?”

I look up at Loki. He's blurry behind a veil of my tears.

“Are you alright?”

I don’t bother to hide and deny what he already knows. I shake my head.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head again.

“Alright.” His voice is soft; soothing, accepting.

I want him to touch me, calm me, wipe it all away, erase it with his touch. But I can’t touch him. I can’t force myself to reach out to him first. And he’s being so cautious, giving me space, not wanting to undo me.

I look up at him pleadingly, begging him with my eyes to understand what I need. I can’t move. Can’t reach out to either him or my notebook to let him know in the only ways I have, what it is I crave.

But he knows me, understands, and so he reaches our slowly and cautiously, giving me time to draw back in case he misunderstood. But he didn’t and I don’t. When he pulls me into him it takes a few seconds for my rigid body to thaw and curve, molding to his shape and the shape of the bars that separate us. I close my eyes.

I must have fallen asleep because when I open my eyes again it is dark outside. Loki is still unmoving beside me, a sentry guarding my rest. He loosens his hold on me when he feels me stirring, letting me sit up. My limbs ache in protest against the movement, having been curled and bunched up for hours now.

“How do you feel?” Loki fishes for one of my hands, holding on to a part of me.

I nod. Better. Moderately.

“May I ask you something.”

I swallow hard and then give a tiny cautious nod. What if he asks about the picture of the man he saw. The stuff he read? He’s bound to have pieced together some parts of the jumbled up puzzle that is me now, even if he doesn’t know the true extent of the horror and ugliness of it all.

But the question that he asks is this: “Your parents? Are you… are you angry with them? Frightened of them?”

I shake my head immediately and irrefutably. He thinks my parents did something wrong to make me cut contact with them. They didn’t. They did everything they were supposed to do. Well, my mom did mostly. My dad… But either way it wasn’t their fault that it wasn’t enough, that I was too far gone to accept their help. It wasn’t their fault that they couldn’t help me; how could they? They had no idea what they were dealing with. There’s no precedent, no chapter about this in all those books most parent read when they first find out they’re expecting a child. There was no step by step instructions on how to deal with a shattered teenage daughter. It wasn’t their fault that along with the horror in my head, the guilt drowned out all of their kindness and love and made me reject them. But the guilt was there, and the guilt was what drove me away. Theirs and mine. Though I could live with theirs. It was my own that I couldn’t cope with. Every time my father was unable to meet my eyes, and every time my mother forced herself to and I saw the horror, the sorrow, the _guilt_ in them... They hadn’t just lost their daughter that night. They lost both of their children. And it destroyed us. Our family. Ripped us apart. Because of me!

My stomach clenches and I press trembling fingers to my mouth.

“It's alright,” Loki whispers. “I only wanted to know you were safe with your family.”

Safe. I’m not safe. Not with my whole family. But I am with my parents. That much is true and he doesn’t know that I even have a brother.

He reaches out and runs his large, warm hands up and down over my forearms. “I was considering speaking to my brother.” He tosses the words out there loosely and I know he’s changing the subject for me but the word _brother_ after I was just thinking of mine makes me jerk violently.

Then I shake the shadows from my head and focus on him and what that means for him.

His eyes are concerned, no doubt by my strange reaction, but I fumble for my pen hoping to steer him out of these dangerous waters before he discovers any more about me. _What about?_

He looks at me for several long seconds before he answers. “About the things I told you. About what… happened to me.”

My eyes widen. This is a big step for him. Huge. If Thor believes him it might start the process of getting him out of this cell. I hesitate, pen poised over my paper debating whether or not to ask the question that’s on my mind.

“Go ahead.” He prompts making me think he already guessed what I want to ask.

_Why now? Why all of a sudden? Why not before?_

“Because before there was nothing for me out there that I would miss while in here.” He says it so gently while looking at me so tenderly that I know he’s talking about me. This pronouncement chases away the last lingering ghosts of memory that cloud my heart from earlier. I turn my head to the side and place a fierce kiss on his knuckles where his hand rests on my shoulder.

He smiles.

_How will you get in touch with him? Should I find him for you and bring him down here?_

“No need, but I thank you. The strange bodiless interface will relay my message to the Man of Iron who will hopefully pass it on to Thor.”

I notice briefly that he doesn’t say my brother anymore, though that’s usually how he addresses Thor. Probably because of how strongly I’d reacted to the word earlier. I want to comment on it but write something else instead. _J.A.R.V.I.S. is down here too?_

“Yes. It does not speak to me, and is programmed to only parlay any requests I may have to the Man of Iron who then either approves or denies them, or likely just ignores them.”

_Well, let me know if he ignores your request to see Thor. If he does I’ll go kick his iron butt._

Loki huffs a laugh. “I shall.” He promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what to say here so...  
> Thanks for reading! Y'all are rockstars for sticking with me this far. I shall bake you all a plate of imaginary cookies!!!  
> 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪


	16. Hold Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too many TRIGGER WARNINGS for this chapter. Maybe mild anxiety, and a bit of flashbacks. Could be called a filler, I guess, but some important stuff also happens, and we get a few other characters too.  
> Enjoy!

A few more days pass in routine. I go to work, go to Loki, go to bed. Sometimes I wake up at night and run to him. Sometimes I don’t. We kiss a few more times though he’s careful to never crowd me or overwhelm me. He doesn’t say anything about whether he wound up talking to Thor or not, and I don’t ask. I want to but I figure I’ll give it a week. I don’t know if he had second thoughts, if he was ignored by Mr. Stark or by Thor himself, or if he did talk to his brother and Thor didn’t believe him. I swear if the latter is what happened I will find the God of Thunder and smash him over the head with his own hammer. My righteous anger will be enough to make me worthy!!!

It’s 4:45pm on Tuesday and Asia’s _Heat of the Moment_ is blaring through the lab while I’m cleaning up and preparing to clock out, when my music stops and J.A.R.V.I.S. speaks. He comments favourably on my music choice, then informs me that Mr. Stark would like to see me in his office when I’m done.

I feel a little bubble of dread but I know I haven’t done anything wrong this time.

When I arrive the door is closed. J.A.R.V.I.S. opens it for me telling me to have a seat, that Mr. Stark will be right with me.

I do as he says, plonking down in as chair in front of the desk, feeling like an errant student sent to wait in the principal’s office; something that has _never_ happened to me in all my academic career.

Mr. Stark breezes in accompanied by Thor, which puts me on edge. _Did_ Loki talk to him?

“Hey, kiddo, how’s it hangin'?” Mr. Stark asks, his relaxed tone putting me slightly at ease. He wouldn’t be talking like that if I was in trouble.

Thor nods at me. Both men give me lots of space as they round me, then pull up chairs so they can sit beside me.

Mr. Stark starts. “So, Pointbreak here has just told me an interesting story about his little murder brother.”

I narrow my eyes slightly. Thor takes point. “Loki asked to speak with me this past Day of the Sun. I saw him yesterday. He has told me of the events that transpired before his attack on Midgard and of what he was put through while all on Asgard believed him dead. He informs me that he already told you this?”

I nod confirming. So it did take Loki a few days to fully muster up the courage to send for Thor. It must have been after I left on Sunday night. I feel relieved that Thor went to him apparently immediately, I guess while I was at work on Monday.

“Why didn’t you say anything, kiddo?” Tony asks, not accusatory at all as he passes me his phone again.

I type. _Because it wasn’t my story to share and it wouldn’t have made a difference, coming from me instead of Loki. He needed to be able to find the right time to tell it himself._

Both men read and then nod in apparent agreement. Thor retakes the reins. “I must admit that I was glad to hear the truth. Devastated, of course, by what my brother had been subjected to, but glad nonetheless that he did not act of his own volition.”

Tony takes over. “It certainly changes things. If Reindeer Games' story checks out then he is wrongfully imprisoned. Of course he still had a part in what went down but, like Barton, he wasn’t responsible. He’d be set free, at the very most stand trial, and then whatever punishment is meted out will be way less severe than eternal imprisonment. They might decide that he’s already served his time in these past two years anyway. We could get Barton in as a firsthand witness, and you as a character witness. But beside the point, first we have to convince ourselves. I know Thor believes him and I’m inclined to believe it too, but Loki is the God of Trickery after all, so we’re gonna do some due diligence.”

Lightness spreads through me throughout the course of Mr. Starks monologue. Loki might go free. He’s got people convinced. At least he’s starting to. Maybe everything will be okay?!

“I shall go searching throughout the universe and search for some traces of the Mad Titan. Finding evidence that he exists will cast reasonable doubt. It shall be enough.” Thor says.

 _But you believe him right?_ I write the words to Thor.

“Yes, I do. And I thank you sincerely for your efforts in getting him to open up.”

_I didn’t really do anything._

“You listened. I believe that made the difference. I have not always been there for my brother in the way I should have been. And I am ashamed to say I often did not listen to him and shut him down many times when he attempted to speak to me. I hope to change this in future.” Thor says looking regretful.

_I think he’d like it if you did._

“I just hope it is not too late.”

_I don’t think so. It might take him a while to trust, but he will if you show him that he can._

Thor nods. “Thank you, Annie. For everything.” He rises and looks at Mr. Stark. “I shall go now. I will check in whenever I find something.”

“Good luck, Pointbreak. Be careful. From the sounds of it this Mad tightwad Titan-fella ain’t fun to tangle with, if he exists.”

“He’s never met me yet!” Thor scoffs, and I suddenly see what Loki means about residual arrogance.

The door closes behind Thor and I look at Mr. Stark.

He leans forward. “In light of what has now come to light I looked at some of the S.H.I.E.L.D. footage and I noticed that someone from lab 209 viewed it about a month ago. I’m guessing it was you.”

I nod.

He grins. “I reversed the keystroke order and saw your activity and where you paused and wound back and the parts you re-watched. I did what you did and I’m pretty sure I know what you saw that made you rewind. And I get it, kiddo. I do. I see why you trusted him enough to go to him.”

I just sit silently. He can’t really understand it but he’s trying so that’s good enough. More than good enough. It’s honestly a lot more than I ever could have hoped for.

“So I wanted to know your thoughts on moving Loki again?”

I look up. Moving him? Where? Not back to the Plexiglas cell where I can’t touch him?

“There are several isolation cells at the end of the hallway. Technically they’re supposed to be punishment for unruly prisoners, but Loki’s the only prisoners we’ve ever had down there so he’s always been in isolation.”

I frown. I see what Mr. Stark is saying but I’m not sure why he’s saying it.

He smiles benignly. “An isolation cell is a single room. It’s not off a hallway of other cells.”

I’m still confused.

“Your key card would give you direct access into the room.”

My eyes widen as I get it. Loki, and a room, and me allowed in it. No glass between us, no bars, nothing.  
  
Mr. Stark’s eyebrows are raised and a crooked grin is on his face. “There are still cameras,” he says suggestively, making me blush, and telling me that he’s still spying; that he’s seen us kissing.

I scowl at him which makes him laugh. “Ya want privacy ask J.A.R.V.I.S. for the eyes closed protocol. It’ll deactivate cams for 30 minutes once a day. But don’t moan too loudly cause loud noises will reactivate ‘em. And I’ll still know what went down cause J. will tell me that the protocol was activated.

I’m still scowling.

His face softens. “I’m just teasin’ ya, kiddo. I’m not judging. You’re an adult. You can do whatever you want with Reindeer Games. Just be careful.”

I sense a shift in his warning to be careful. It’s now less of the ‘make sure he doesn’t murder you’ careful, and more ‘make sure he wears a condom’ careful. And it makes me flush beet red. That is not what I was thinking off when I heard that Loki’s getting a room that I’m allowed to go into. I was thinking of just holding him unhindered by bars. Anything else… I don’t even know if I could… ever. Even with him…

I refocus on Mr. Stark because he’s speaking again. “I guess you agree. Good, ‘cause he’ll already have been moved by now, Cell 7D; so if you want to go…”

I nod, typing one more line on his phone. _Thank you, sir!_

“Call me Tony, please.” He corrects. “And I’m meeting with the dean of Columbia tomorrow to talk about your case. And while I’m at it I’ll see what I can do about that research that was stolen from you two years ago.”

I look up. _You know about that?_

“I was the one who got the crooked professor discredited.” He says bitterly. “Wish I could have done more.”

I swallow. I had no idea. _You’ve done more than enough. Thank you!_

He waves me off. “Get outta here. I’ll find you on Thursday to tell you what the dean said.”

I nod, then pass back his phone. I walk with controlled dignity out of his office then all the way down the hall. Then I break into a run.

By the time I arrive at Loki’s new cell I’m panting and out of breath with a stitch in my side. I fumble with my card and drop it twice before I can get it swiped because my fingers are shaking with nerves. Finally I manage to throw the door open. I’m greeted by a short stretch of hallway and another door. Of course. It’s a full size airlock preventing Loki from escaping by waiting to bash whoever enters his domain in the head and then making a run for it. A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that I’ll now also need my card to get out the door. I guess Tony is relying on the fact that all our key cards work via fingerprint recognition of those they're registered to, otherwise I'm sure he'd be wary of Loki trying to lift mine and using it to escape...

My eyes fall on Loki who’s standing in the middle of the room, legs braced apart, hands behind his back, and rocking back on his heels. I can see the anticipation in his face but he’s giving me space. I approach slowly. The second door is back to being bulletproof glass and it has a tray to pass things to him as well. I swipe my card. For an endless second nothing happens. Then the door slides open with a soft hiss, and there’s nothing between me and Loki except about four meters of empty space. I take a step into the room. As soon as I’m over the threshold the door hisses shut behind me.

I chew on my lower lip, watching Loki watching me.

“Alright?” he asks softly.

When I nod fervently he takes a slow step forwards, his hands unfolding from behind his back, holding them up, palms outward, to show me he means no harm. I know it though, know he won’t hurt me. I trust him. Absolutely and completely. There is no one I trust more!

He takes another single step towards me, measuring my reaction, and then another.

I surge forward. The breath leaves him in a huff as I collide with him, then his arms come around me in turn, strong and sure.

“I cannot believe you are actually here!” he whispers, burying his face in my hair. I just clutch him tighter.

We stand like this for undefinable lengths of time, just holding on, neither of us wanting to break away. Only when my stomach growls does he push me gently away by my shoulders.

My cheeks are colored with mortification, and I’m angry that my internal organs would interrupt this tender moment so very rudely.

“Have you eaten?”

I nod. I did. This morning. His constant feeding has gotten my stomach acclimatized to food again, and I was actually hungry. It was just a banana, plus the earl grey tea that he slipped me last night, but, yes, I ate. But like I said, I’m more used to food again, and so my traitor stomach responds accordingly.

“Lunch?”

Shake.

“Breakfast?”

Nod.

“Alright. I saved you some dinner. In fact they sent down extra. They seem to have realized that you now eat down here most of the time, and accommodated.”

Tony! I’m sure. Because if I’m eating down here then I’m not paying for food in the caf, and I know Tony would be okay with that whereas others wouldn’t be.

He doesn’t let go of me; doesn’t unwrap his arm from around my shoulder, keeping me pressed into his side as he leads me over to his bed, and sits down with me. I balk slightly as I realize where he’s taking me, but then I go. I trust him. He’s not going to try anything, and I know he just wants me to be comfortable and not have to sit on the floor for once.

I eat, leaning into his side, my head pillowed on his shoulder, his lips in my hair.

It starts to rain sometime while I’m scarfing down udon noodles with broccoli beef. That’s when I notice that the window is open. Well, not completely open, there’s bars over it, but you can reach out, and fresh air can come inside.

The sound of the rain, as always, calls to the darkness that lives inside me, sending it writhing and twisting in my guts. But, somehow, today it doesn’t make me want to hide, at least not yet. I extricate myself gently from Loki’s arms and rise onto my feet, balancing on his mattress. He looks up, watching me. I lean onto the window sill, sticking my hand out as far as I can into the silver wash of rain. Screams sound faintly in my ear and the taste of aspartame, sugar, and dirt is in my mouth. I wait on tenterhooks for the sky to explode. But it won’t. Because I’m safe. The rain is not running unchecked into my face. I can taste soy sauce and spice; nothing sweet. I am fine. I am safe.

But still the sound of the rain is making me edgy, even as I sink back down and burrow into Loki’s chest. “Would you like me to shut the window?” he asks, bending over me.

I nod.

I feel his body stretching up and away from me, and then I hear a click and a buzzing. When I look up I see a Plexiglass plate sliding down behind the bars.

Loki smiles. “It is nice, feeling fresh air again.” He says.

_I’m sorry I made you close it…_

“Shh.” He hushes me. “Whatever you need to feel comfortable and safe. The fresh air will still be here when the rain stops.”

I shift and maneuver around, curling into his side until I can tuck my head where his shoulder meets his throat. I inhale deeply and draw my knees up against his waist.

“Cozy?” he teases wryly, and I just nod. I can feel his soft chuckles vibrating in his chest as he presses his lips into my hair. “Good!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's that. This was kind of a slower chapter, I think, but I suck at judging this stuff so yea... Next few chapters have some heeeeavy stuff happening so be prepared for that... Also some more familiar characters that we haven't seen here yet, coming up very soon. Who could it be? Any guesses? Any requests too, for who you'd like appearing in the story? I'll see if I can find a way to fit them in. Or any requests for who you'd like to see more of? I'm open to suggestions as long as we all remember that this is a Loki centric story. Though how could we forget?!  
> Anyway hope you liked?!


	17. Say My Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEAVY TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER!!!  
> rape, explicit(ish) descriptions thereof, panic attack, nightmares, flashbacks, incest, and just generally big angst.  
> Also, er... something else. I'll have more to say about that something else at the end but for now I'll let it surprise you. I hope it's not a bad or negative surprise...  
> Gnah... I'm nervous about posting this chapter. I've literally put it off for like 5 hours now.  
> Ugh.

A new routine starts. Neither of us ever says anything, but after that night where I’d fallen asleep tucked up like that, pocketed against his side, I stop trying to keep my distance at night. I go to sleep in my own bed and when I inevitably wake up plagued by nightmares in various stages of severity, I go to him. When I get there he’s always awake and waiting to take my hand and lead me back to bed, where I fall asleep in his arms with him spooned in behind me. Sometimes his eyes are red and squinty and I’ll know that I woke him up, but he never let’s me apologize. Often he reads to me as I fall asleep but sometimes he just lays with me. Sometimes when I wake up I can feel his attraction to me pressed solidly into my hip, thigh, or bum, but he never acts on it, only kissing me sweetly, always asking permission before he does even that. He always makes sure to wake me with a hot mug of tea with plenty of time for me to flit upstairs and grab a shower before work.

And every night he asks me what I dreamt about, always seeing the lingering clouds of the nightmare in my eyes, sometimes dark and billowing, sometimes fleeting and already dissipating. And when I shake my head, his fingers smooth through my hair, his lips murmur across my temples or my cheeks, and he assures me that it’s alright, that I don’t have to tell him, and I wonder for how much longer that will hold true. I know that eventually I will have to and when that time comes I won’t be able to either, and what happens then I don’t know; don’t even want to think about.

For now though he allows me to get away with it, and let’s me curl up against him, his heartbeat under my ear, night after night. It feels like home!

It’s one of these nights, no different in any discernible way than any of the ones before it, that I fall asleep safe, and warm, and protected in Loki’s arms and wake up to another man’s face above my own. It’s like looking into a funhouse mirror, my own features distorted, made heavier, more square, masculine and older, and twisted with hate and vile, malicious intent.

_No!_

My stomach lurches sickeningly, somersaulting over itself.

_Nonononononono!_

This is not happening! This is a dream!

I know it’s not real; I _know,_ but it feels real. I’m struggling beneath him, fear turning to horror, turning to despair, all the air squeezed from my lungs by his weight. How many times have I felt that weight atop me; him wrestling me down into the grass, both of us laughing, giggling madly, but now; now it's suffocating! His hand wraps around my throat, choking off my scream, my voice. “Jacob…” I splutter, the last word I’ll ever say aloud, and he slaps me hard across the face. Metallic taste floods through my mouth.

“Shut up!”

_No, please! No!_

I feel him touching me, and my stomach heaves.

I shove one fist into my mouth, tasting dirt and powdered sugar from the funnel cake I’d just finished sharing with him moments ago. The taste of the Diet Pepsi I’d drank with it still coats my tongue. My other fist swings out wildly punching at any part of him I can reach. That’s when I hear the laughter, the shouting, the sound of college guys with a buzz. They come out of the bushes and hold me down. My wrists. My ankles. Tight bruising grips. My fists clench, nails digging into my palms as I tug, trying to get free.

Tears stream from my eyes as I watch the spinning lights of the Ferris Wheel upside down behind me. It alternates, now a sunburst, now a star and back. Now red, now green, now blue, pink, yellow, purple. Always blinking and revolving. Around and around and around, making me ill.

I feel their hands, hot and dry, rough and calloused. They grab my skin, knead and twist the flesh on my soft places. Fingers, clumsy with intoxication, probe and poke between my thighs and pinch my nipples, fumbling around with my panties and bra. 

My mouth starts to move though no sound escapes. My lips form the words to that most famous of Beatles songs, as I hear the beautiful lyrics in my head even over their callous and crude shouts, their laughter, their quarrel about who gets to go first; and will them to come true, will the sun to come.

Rain starts to fall instead, and I hear them cursing, annoyed, one even lamenting his hair. I hope the rain will be enough to chase them off, but it’s not. My tank top is around my neck, and my knee length skirt is around my stomach, and they’re too invested now.

This is the point where the screaming begins for the first time; begins and never really ends again. The screams that, back then, I hadn’t yet been able to identify as belonging to Loki, but that so perfectly express all the horror I’m feeling at the moment, and this helps me obey their threats and stay silent

When the pain tears through me I don’t make a sound.

It goes on. Again and again as they all take a turn, then another. Ripping into me over and over and over again. It seems like it will never end.

When it does, when the pain fades into a dull fog of numbness, I’m surprised that it’s over and that I’m still alive. Revulsion sets in. I open my mouth to call for help. Summer rain falls onto my tongue, warm and cloying. I can’t yell for help. I can’t get a single sound out. It scrapes up my throat and gets stuck sideways. I am mute. I have been broken.

Above my unseeing eyes the sky explodes with a loud boom into a dazzling firework display.

And then I scream.

**_“LOKI!”_ **

The sound tearing up my throat is what wakes me. I sit bolt upright in bed, pulling air into my lungs with violent force. Loki jerks upright at my side, automatically reaching for me.

 _“Annie!”_ he catches me by my shoulders and turns me to face him. One hand sweeps over my face, swiping away the messy tumble of hair that hangs haphazardly in his way of seeing my eyes. “What is it? What has happened?”

I’m shoving against him wildly, pushing against his solid chest, but I may as well be pushing against the wall behind me for all the good it does. He doesn’t budge.

“Annie, Annie, stop! Annie, love it’s me. It’s _me!”_

Finally my panicked thrashing gets him to release me, and I scramble up, smashing into the opposite wall with bone jarring force. I throw myself across the room sliding on my knees up to his toilet in the corner. I stick my head inside and forcefully expel all of the chicken with steamed vegetables he’d so sweetly force fed me just a few hours ago.

My throat hurts from the ferocity of the heaves, and my tossing stomach isn’t helping. Tears pour down my face, falling into the bowl to mix with half digested peas, carrots, and chunks of chicken.

I feel Loki’s warmth at my back before he touches me. He wraps himself around me from behind, pulling my hair out of the line of fire, and rubbing his other hand up and down my spine. His lips come to rest on my shoulder and I can feel them moving as he murmurs sweet nothings into my skin, unable, like me, to do anything but wait for this to stop.

When it finally does, I rest my cheek tiredly on the cool rim of the stainless steel prison can. Loki reaches over me to pull the flush that sucks the mess out of sight into the bowels of the Compound’s sewer system. Then he falls heavily back on his butt, pulling me with him and folding me into a ball on his lap, enveloping me completely with his warmth, his presence, and his scent.

My hands are pressed to my mouth, and I hear a whimpering sound from behind them. I push down harder, ramming it back inside where it belongs. Everything foul, and vile, and filthy inside of me is threatening to spew out at one hundred times the velocity as the vomit just did. And I cannot, I _cannot_ let it!

“You talked.” Loki whispers above me, his voice soft but laced with wonder. “That was you. You said my name.”

I shiver violently and crowd even closer against him, wishing I could crawl all the way up inside and pitch a tent somewhere in his ribcage, in the vicinity of his heart. I’m breathing brokenly through my open mouth, staining his shirt with tears, saliva, and snot, as I try, and fail, to get a handle on my relentless sobbing and crying.

“Alright.” Loki breathes in a voice that is as soft and soothing as I’ve never yet heard. Clearly he’s loath to frighten me. “It’s alright. Shhh. I have you. You are safe!”

I nod, gulping wetly, little choppy double sucks of crying breath escaping from behind the wall of my hands. His voice; my salvation! Anchoring me.

I can feel them though: the cracks. They emanate from my traitorous mouth, spider webbing outwards, etching my body into a fragility it has not yet been in, and threatening to send me flying apart into a million, trillion pieces at any second. I cling to Loki hoping his arms can keep me holding together.

He hugs me as I sob brokenly, rocking us gently back and forth. At one point he begins to sing. It is not _Here Comes the Sun_ that he sings, which is good, because after my dream that would have sent me spiralling completely, when normally it calms me. But today it wouldn’t have worked and somehow, instinctively, Loki knows that. No, instead he sings _my_ song, my namesake.

_“You fill up my senses,_   
_Like a night in the forest._   
_Like the mountains in springtime._   
_Like a walk in the rain._   
_Like a storm in the desert._   
_Like a sleepy blue ocean._   
_You fill up senses._   
_Come fill me again._   
_Come let me love you._   
_Let me give my life to you._   
_Let me drown in your laughter._   
_Let me die in your arms._   
_Let me lay down beside you._   
_Let me always be with you._   
_Come let me love you._   
_Come love me again.”_

But still I can’t stop. Even with his voice crooning in my ear, the grief still thrums through me, pouring out of me through the cracks and fractures, and I can’t breathe and I can’t make it stop.

“Norns, love just _talk_ to me. _Please.”_ Loki whispers brokenly, cuddling me closer when nothing helps.

But I can’t. I can only twist my fingers in his shirt, clinging to him, suddenly so desperate to get closer that I start to pull and rip at the fabric, wanting to remove one of the barriers between us that’s preventing me from getting as close to him as I can.

I feel him stiffen slightly in surprise, then he surges to his feet in one powerful move with me still balled up tightly, clasped against his chest. He lays me down on the bed then stands, reaches back, and yanks his shirt over his head. He drops down beside me, then rolls me on top of him, tangling his legs with mine, forcing my hips down against his own. His arms wrap around me, smashing me against his, now bare, chest. He’s holding me as close as he possibly can, his arms wrapping so far around, so tight, that he can grab his own opposite biceps. It’s almost painful, but not as painful as the roaring monster ripping apart my chest and throat from the inside out. And still it isn’t enough. I want to get closer. I _need_ to get closer.

Loki feels me pulling at him, mashing my face against his chest, my fingernails scratching over his bare skin, my entire body straining towards him.

“This is as close as I can get you without slicing myself open…” he whispers regretfully, his words blowing over the crown of my head, ruffling my hair there. “I’m here, love. I am right here.”

I push into him harder, inhaling the clean minty smell of him. I stretch up within the confines of his hold and press my lips to the underside of his jaw, my teeth coming out to scrape over the tendons on his neck, between unsteady breaths.

He goes absolutely still beneath me.

Then he moves his head down, capturing my mouth, slanting his lips over mine, licking hungrily into me. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating between my teeth. With his inhuman speed he flips us around so quickly that I barely even feel the movement, but suddenly I’m underneath him. He holds his weigh on his elbows and deepens the kiss. I reciprocate greedily, my fingers coming up to wrap around him again and tangle themselves in his silky soft hair.

I push down on him wanting him closer again and cry out into his mouth when I feel the hot insistent weight of his hips settling fully over mine.

He swallows my needy little sound, then pulls back to look down at me, searching my face. His eyes are dark, all pupil, still glowing like a cat’s, and blown with lust and desire. But still I can see that he’s in control, will back off the moment I tell him to. He will not take this too far, will not force me into anything.

I can’t stand it; he’s too far away. I drag him back down on top of me using my grip in his hair, and he complies willingly even though I know I wouldn’t be able to move him if he did not want to be moved. His lips smash back to mine, kissing me fiercely as one of his hands slides down my side over the generous curves of my waist and hips, coming to rest on my stomach. His fingers just barely slip beneath the hem of my shirt and I shiver at the tingling trails of heat his feather light touches leave.

His hips begin to rock against mine, the coarse, heavy fabric of his prison pants still hiding nothing. I moan at the feel of him and he rises slightly, slipping one knee between my thighs and then the other, nudging gently until my legs fall open, creating a cradle for him to rest his hot, hard weight in. And still I strain upward, seeking more.

Loki shudders then buries his face in the crook of my neck. His hands shove underneath me, holding me to him. His hips buck and grind the hard length of him between my legs. My head snaps back and my mouth drops open as my fingers curl into claws in his shoulders. I’m shocked at how good it feels; at the pleasure it brings.

Loki withdraws and repeats the motion, thrusting forward again and I can feel something deep inside me coiling up tightly. I’m gasping for breath, my heart is pounding; I can feel its pulse throbbing throughout my entire body, but still I want him closer; want more.

I lift one leg, hooking it over his hip, and that’s all he needs. With a growl his entire body tenses, and then he’s really moving, hips pistoning forward, impacting with mine over and over and over again. He reaches down, grabbing my other leg and hitching it up over his hip as well. I lock my feet together in the small of his back, anchoring him to me, trapping him against me. My hips move against his and I am uncaring about anything and everything, mindless in my need for him. My back bows up, my clammy hands slipping over his sweat soaked skin, grappling for purchase.

He’s shaking with the need for release, the metal bed frame vibrating against the wall. He’s more than ready; I can feel it, hot and heavy, sliding relentlessly over the most sensitive part of me. I can feel my own release approaching in the throbbing deep inside of me, and I bow forwards sinking my teeth into the skin of his neck as my body clenches and the orgasm explodes through me washing away the last vestiges of darkness left behind by my nightmare/flashback.

Loki stiffens, screwing his eyes shut and groaning low and gravelly as he comes, body shuddering with the force of his release.

He holds himself up on shaking arms, making sure I take none of his weight as he drops his forehead down onto my chest. Both of us are panting for breath. I’m trembling as the aftershocks work their way through my body, my mind reeling from the single most extraordinary thing I have ever experienced. And I am still fully clothed. As is Loki. Well, minus the shirt.

After a minute that feels both endless and too short, Loki pulls back. Our hips are still closely connected but he separates our upper bodies enough that he can see my face, eyes boring intently into mine. “Are you alright?”

I feel myself simultaneously blush and smile as I nod fervently.

Loki winces. “My apologies, I have to…” he breaks off, rising up and away from me. I miss him instantly. He rummages beneath his bed and when he pulls a new pair of pants from the recesses of this space I understand what he’s doing and turn my back to him to give him privacy. Still I hear him retreat to a corner, likely giving me space too. I sit up, still facing the wall, and brush my still trembling fingers through my hair to restore order to the knotted strands, and tug my clothes back into their proper positions.

When Loki returns, he sits next to me on the bed with one knee drawn up and bent, the other foot braced on the floor. I peek up at him from behind the curtain of my tangled hair, feeling suddenly inexplicably shy. He’s holding his crumpled up shirt in his hands and, as I watch, slides it back over his head. His green eyes are impassive as they appear again over the top of his shirt.

“I did not mean for that to happen.” He says in a soft, matter-of-fact voice.

I flinch backwards like he’s slapped me, and then scramble to my feet.

“Annie, wait!”

He stands too, blocking my way, but I skirt around him, walking stiffly toward the door, fumbling for my key card; wanting, _needing,_ to get out of there before I start bawling my eyes out.

 _“Damn_ _it!”_ Loki catches up to me easily, not crowding me or grabbing me, but instead covering the card reader with his hand, very effectively putting a halt to my escape attempt. “I did not mean it like that!”

I stare at his pale hand, silvery looking in the moonlight. His other arm wraps slowly around my waist from behind, his lips landing on the sensitive spot right behind and directly below my ear. “I did not say that I did not want it to happen.”

He turns me around carefully and slowly, bending his knees to catch my gaze which is trained on the floor. His fingers gently tilt my trembling chin up. He kisses me soft and lingering. “I simply did not mean for it to happen yet. Not then.” He makes a frustrated sound deep in his throat as he presses his forehead to mine. “For Norns’ sakes, you had just awoken screaming.”

Oh. Right. I did do that. Miraculously I’d pretty much forgotten.

When he feels me tense he draws me closer. “Annie, love. Talk to me.”

I rear back, looking up at him with wide, guarded eyes.

“No, I meant…” he casts around for my notepad, then scoops it up and pushes it into my hands. “I swear I do not care if you talk to me. Just _talk_ to me!”

I stare down at the notebook, its navy blue cover bent and warped, its pages almost completely filled now.

“Love, what is it you’re afraid of? What could conceivably be so bad that you won’t let yourself speak? Why does it frighten you so?”

I wince as his words rub over the raw spot inside me that my earlier nightmare left and that I’d put out of my mind by what we did… after. His words hit so close to home and I squeeze my eyes and lips shut tightly as the spectres from my dream arise anew, accompanied by the screams in his voice.

“Come here,” Loki leads me back to the bed sitting down to lean against the wall with me tucked between his legs, my back to his front, one bent knee on either side of my hips, boxing me in, wrapping me up with his body. “Can you tell me what it was you were dreaming about?”

I swallow and lick my dry lips. _The same thing._ I write slowly and haltingly, holding the pad so that he can read over my shoulder as I write. _It’s always the same thing._

He is silent, and I imagine the little concentrated frown on his face as he considers. “But you do not always awaken screaming my name…”

_It’s getting harder._

“What is?”

_Holding it back. The screaming._

His knees tighten on either side of my hips and his fingers dig lightly into my waist as he realizes what I’m saying.

“Annie?” he asks softly, his voice shaking slightly.

I want to close my eyes and crawl back into bed with him, safe inside the circle of his arms. I want to wrap myself around him like a vine, as close as I can get, and sleep for days; sleep away the time that everyone always tells me I have to give. Wake up years later and have everything be better, be muted and numbed, and be able to _live_ again. I force myself to write; the pen skewing wildly across the page, my words scrawling messier than they normally do as both my hands shake. I force myself to answer the question he doesn’t know how to ask: _If I start I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stop._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, ya. I hope people dont think that that was unrealistic, but I'm in part loosely basing this off one of my own experiences where after a horrid nightmare/flashback this type of closeness was exactly what I needed even if before or after I couldnt really understand WHY or HOW it would have been possible to feel like that. Was that TMI? I dont know, but again keep in mind that every survivor is different and every individual survivor's singular experiences are different, as well as their relationships with different people...  
> Anyhoo still hope that didnt completely come out of the blue and leave people going like nah I dont think that makes sense... but if it does lemme know cause feedback is totally still appreciated.  
> Also this was my first time writing any kind of smutty scene so if ya hate it cause the writing sucked then please be kind and give suggestions about how I can write that better, dont flat out tell me it sucked. I'm sensitive, lol. Not that anyone's done something like that before, btw. Everyone in the comments has been super awesome with feedback and suggestions. And I totally love you for it!!  
> Ok, that's it for my endless rambling end note. See y'all next chapter. Thanks for reading!!!


	18. The Jackass Squad or The Asshole Patrol Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for bullying; probably even assault, anxiety, panic, and trauma related to that.  
> At first I thought this chapter may have been kind of... not right. I mean these people are supposed to be adults and their behaviours seems more like a cliche movie about middle school bullying... But then I considered the sheer amount of people I meet at work on a daily basis who, let's just say, make toddlers look incredibly mature amd grown up. The amount of pettiness in some of these so called "adults"... Blows the mind. Noone acts more childish than certain grownups. At least children have an excuse. You know, 'cause they're CHILDREN!!! Adults should know better by now! Anyway, I decided that grown up men and women acting like this is in fact believable and recognizable, at least to anyone who's ever worked in some kind of service industry job. I mean for gosh's sakes, some utter man-child threw his drink in my face a month or so ago because we were out of bendy straws. Not straws. BENDY straws! Threw a tantrum any three year old would have been proud of. And I spent the rest of the day sticky. Great fun! But at least it gave me one of many reasons to justify the validity of this chapter. So thank you, strange bendy strawless man-child. You have helped further the plot!  
> Anyhoo, onwards with the story.

Two days later I’m in the lab, messing around with a microscope while, officially, I’m supposed to be running files from my lab to one of the other ones. But David Bowie is playing in the background and I don’t want to interrupt _The Magic Dance._ When _Heroes_ comes on next though, I sigh and grab my headphones.

I pick up the pile of files and start making my way toward lab 316, all the while anticipating and steeling myself for the askance looks I’ll be getting from the lab techs there.

 _I, I can remember,_  
_(I remember)_  
_Standing by the wall_  
_(The wall)_  
_And the guns, shot above our heads,_  
_(Over our heads)_  
_And we kissed, as though nothing could fall._  
_(Nothing could fall)_  
_And the shame, was on the other side_  
_Oh, we can beat them, forever and ever._  
_Then we could be heroes just for one day._  
_We can be heroes._  
_We can be heroes_  
_Yea, we can be heroes just for one day._  
_We can be heroes._

I don’t even notice that I’m absently humming along to the lyrics. When I do, it doesn’t throw me as much as I would generally expect it to. I pause for a second and then stop humming, but I don’t freak out about what it could mean.

I wonder if Loki has listened to this song? _Diamond Dogs_ comes on while I’m trying to remember whether I downloaded _Heroes_ onto the MP3 for him.

I’m just shifting the enormous pile of files in my arms around so I can get a better grip when I get a hard shove in the back and the entire load explodes down the hall like a deck of cards in a typhoon.

I stumble then throw myself around, ripping my earbuds out of my ears. Three people stand in a line in front of me, blocking the narrow hallway. I vaguely recognize on of the two guys as one of Lucas' lunch buddies, though I have no recollection of his name. The other two; a guy and a girl, I’ve never consciously seen around.

A noise from behind me makes me spin the other way, my heart beating in my throat. Two more people approach from that side, apparently having lain in wait in one of the storage rooms off the hall. The man is unfamiliar to me, the woman I recognize as Agent Brenner’s bitchy girlfriend. Victoria? No. Veronica!

I hadn’t interacted with her since the day I met her when she accosted me outside her beau’s office. I’d seen her numerous times in passing and she’d always thrown provocatively malignant looks at me. A few times she even put her hand up the her mouth and made pumping motions while pushing her tongue into her cheek repeatedly, miming me sucking a dick, presumably Loki’s judging by her comments from before. I’d taken the high road and chosen to ignore her, instead of punching her in one of her perky, probably silicone enhanced tits. Maybe I should have punched her in the tit because all that the high road has gotten me is cornered in a hallway by her and her posse, and a clusterfuck of files to clean up and re-sort.

She smiles widely at me, her pink lipstick looking sticky and globbed on. I can see the creases in her makeup, the enlarged pores on her nose, the way one of her obviously fake eyelashes is detaching itself slightly at the outside corner of her left eye. All these details of imperfection in her perfection stand out vividly and clearly to me in the moments that my fear swallows me whole. I have no idea what they want. But I know it can’t be good otherwise they wouldn’t have shown up _en_ masse.

I back up a step. Veronica’s vicious smile widens. “Aw, look at her. She’s scared.”

The wolves close in. My head whips left and right. I have no escape route; they’re blocking me in completely.

“Don’t be frightened, little mouse.” Veronica coos in a goo-goo baby voice. “We don’t wanna huwt you. We just wanna tawk.”

My back hits the wall. Both my hands curl up tightly. The fingernails of my left hand dig into my palm, sending the familiar jagged pain jolting through me. My right hand is curled tightly around my iPod.

“So we heard you’re still goin' down to see the Psycho, and we want you to stop. Even if his cock _is_ that good!”

I stare at her; at this dingbat from hell, as she advances towards me. What is her problem? How is it any skin off her back if I go to see Loki? Why does she care enough to come after me for it?

She gets right up in my face. “Do you pwomise?” she chirps high pitched, and I wonder if she’s high. Surely this isn’t rational behaviour?! My heart is threatening to beat it’s way out of my ribcage, and the sickly sweet stench of her perfume makes me lightheaded and dizzy. Screams start sounding through my mind.

I can’t think straight from the fear, nausea, and dizziness and so I shake my head automatically _no,_ instead of using my normally finely tuned instincts of self preservation and promising her any and everything she wants just so I can get the hell away from here.

“No? That’s a shame.” She takes a small step back but takes my face in her hand. Her inch long talons, which are painted a lurid, toxic looking blue, dig into my cheeks.

I hit out at her with clenched fists, the cables of my earbuds swishing through the air like a whip. But before my fists can make contact with her, two of her cronies launch forward, grabbing my arms and pinning them to the wall. I try to kick out but the other two dive down and grab hold of my ankles. No one bothers to cover my mouth. Why should they? I’m now standing there with my arms in a T-pose against the wall, and it feels as if I’ve been affixed to a crucifix. My fear is swallowing me up alive and I know I need to scream if I’m gonna have any chance in hell of escaping their clutches and whatever she has planned for me.

I try. I try so hard. I will myself to let it all out, Krakatoa style, but it won’t come. My cheeks bulge and my lips puff outwards as Veronica squeezes her hand tighter. My eyes bug and my ears pop with the force of the scream that is trying to find a way out of me, but which my mouth and throat won’t grant passage along the obvious route.

“What do you think, guys? Why’s she wasting time with Pennywise the Dancing Clown? Does she really think he sees her as anything other than sexual entertainment after so long of having been cooped up alone?”

“Guess there’s no accounting for taste.” the other girl pants, trying to keep me pinned even as I writhe and twist to get free. But it’s no use. I’m too weak. Just like last time I’m too weak to fight them off.

“Exactly, Jasmine.” Veronica agrees, satisfied. “She’s just giving him what she gives all the guys. Why does she play so hard to get when she’s obviously so hard to want?!”

“Maybe she can give some to me!” the guy holding my left wrist and arm in a bruising, vice like grip suggests, waggling his eyebrows up and down. “She’s quite a looker, especially now that she’s put some meat back on her bones. And since she can’t talk she won’t complain afterwards that I didn’t make her cum.”

“Shut up, Travis.” Veronica sneers dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Drag her down.”

No. No, no, no. Fuck no, please! _No._ Not again!

Fear washes through me. But there’s something else too. Rage! It blooms inside me like a little ember and when I realize it’s there, it grows, crackling outwards, through me, and explodes in my skull. The screaming in my head starts fading in and out, like a badly tuned radio.

I kick and twist as hard as I can. One of my ankles slips out of their grasp and I lash out wildly, actually connecting with something soft.

Someone screams. I hope I broke their nose!

I jerk my arm out of somebody’s loosened grasp. Veronica is in front of me and I scratch at her face lunging forward until I’m yanked back by the ones still holding me.

“You _bitch!”_ Veronica shrieks, holding her cheek.

“Grab her wrists!” someone else yells.

I struggle and thrash, but there’s too many of them. They clamp me down to the wall once more, and that’s it. I’ve lost. Again. Just like last time.

“Fine.” Veronica snarls, spitting bleach blonde hair out of her face, then wiping it away impatiently when it sticks to her tacky lips. “Standing up then.”

I shudder uncontrollably. It’s as if the anger and panic are ratcheting up my senses because I can hear the driving beat of _Queen Bitch_ playing through my earbuds, where they lie discarded on the floor along with my iPod. Helplessness wells up inside me turning my lungs to lead. The steady _bang, bang, bang_ of my own heartbeat reverberates through me like Phil Collins himself is playing his drums inside my chest. My nerves are frayed, my brain is on fire. Their touches feel like a thousand volts of pure energy zapping through me, electrocuting me from the inside out.

Victoria pulls a black sharpie from seemingly nowhere. “Since you obviously like the attention you’re garnering from hanging around with the Psycho, I thought we’d make it even more obvious for you!”

Humiliation flares through me as I realise what she means to do. What are we; in grade school?!

I throw my head around madly, trying to evade her grasping claws but she catches me easily and holds me in place. She’s a lot stronger than she looks.

She uncaps the pen with her teeth, then spits the lid out to the side. Leaning forward, eyes fixed intently on my face, tongue poking out between her teeth in concentration, she brings the tip of the marker closer and closer. I go cross eyed trying to keep it in view.

And still my screams won’t come. The ones in my head though, they’re bouncing through my skull, side to side, like that series of ‘Galileos’ in Queen's _Bohemian Rhapsody_ bouncebetween your left ear and your right ear when you listen to the song with headphones.

The marker is cold as it touches down on my forehead. She draws a large fat squiggly line. An **S**.

“Veronica? Are you sure we should..?” the other girl pipes up.

“Shut up, Jazzy. I need to focus.” Veronica snaps, now drawing two perpendicular lines. An **L**.

I’m beginning to guess what word she’s writing across my forehead and my stomach tosses in response.

 **U**.

“A nice little label for you. You’ll like that. Everyone already suspects it. Now they’ll _know!”_

 **T**.

Tears swim in my eyes making her harpy face fuzzy. I jerk desperately against the holds of my captors but, as before, it does no good. God, I am pathetic. Did I not learn _anything_ last time?! I’m still just as weak and gutless and inadequate and _useless_ as I ever was. Annie Ellis, easy mark! That’s me.

Veronica leans back surveying her work with pursed lips. I try to turn my face to the side in shame but she grabs it and yanks it back around.

“There. Slut. Now everyone can see. Although honestly I should have written ‘psycho-cock gobbling slut’. Would have been more descriptive, dontcha think? Well, it’s not too late and you’ve got a lot of face left.”

And she raises the marker again.

“C’mon, Veronica. Don’t you think that’s enough?” one of the guys pipes up.

“Did I ask for an opinion, Corey? No? That’s what I thought. Now shut your fucking mouth, or go away!”

The guy doesn’t move, just redoubles his grip on my arm, mumbling obstinately to himself.

“Maybe you should write it on her tits?! I mean she’s just begging for it with those huge things flopping around, isn’t she?!” The guy from earlier, Travis, says.

Veronica smirks. “Great idea, Trav. All in good time!”

Bile stings the back of my throat, bubbling up behind my teeth. I try again to wrest the screams from inside me but they refuse to rise. More bile washes up instead. I gag. Terror thrums through me. Loki’s screams go round and round in my head.

She draws a line straight down my right cheek, close to my ear. I can hear the sharpie squeaking over my skin.

_“Hey!”_

The spin around like schoolchildren caught when they hear the principal’s voice. I’m still held fast, and can’t see past all their head.

“Shit!” one of them hisses.

“Run!”

“Go, go, go!”

They scatter. All of them. I’m left standing against the wall, frozen, still looking like I’ve been crucified there, while my attackers sprint off down the hallway on my right.

Slowly my head turns to the left, to gaze upon my saviour.

It’s a woman. Dressed head to toe in a skin tight black cat suit, taller than me, just as curvaceous, with a shock of curly, vividly red hair.

“Are you hurt?” She asks as she draws level with me.

I shake myself out of my stupor and jump backwards away from her.

She takes a step back. “It’s okay. I just want to help. I’m Natasha.”

Black Widow. Of course. Everything I’ve ever heard about the legendary assassin turned top spy/secret agent reels through my head. She’s about a million times worse than Veronica. She could put me on my ass in less than a second and probably keep me down all by herself, using only her pinky finger. My muddled brain even has her looking a bit like Veronica. Conventionally gorgeous, and flawlessly beautiful.

The fact that she just saved me does not, at present, register in my mind. All that matters is getting away. Getting to safety. Getting to Loki.

I don’t let myself think about how easily she could probably catch me if she wanted to. I just wheel on the spot and sprint. Away. Away. Downstairs. The fact that I’m supposed to be at work forgotten along with everything else that matters. Because right now _nothing_ matters. My only thought is that I need to breathe again, or else I'll suffocate on all this air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look. A Black Widow appears. Okay only for like a second but she'll be back soon. She will be!!! I am in denial about Endgame. That part never happened. You know the one I'm talking about! Never happened! Also that other part. They all lived happily ever after. The End!  
> Ok, done with the comisserating. Hope that was okay. I knew I had to get the asshole patrol back stirring up more crap but I had a lot of trouble writing this chapter at first. Oh well, c'est la vie.  
> See ya next chapter. And thank you, as always for reading.


	19. Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for angst and being messed up after bullying incident, and some anxiety.  
> New chapter right away, mostly because I originally edited this as one chapter but then it was too long and there was kind of a natural break there. Ish. But either way both chapters were done so you get them both at one time. Surprise. Happy 31st of July! Apparently it's National Orgasm Day so, umm... yea. Have fun celebratin'...  
> Also its J.K. Rowling's birthday. So Happy Bday to her.  
> And happy extra chapter reading to you.

Clearly I’ve surprised Loki in the midst of taking a shower because when I burst stumbling through the door he’s just yanking a pair of pants on. The shower head and curtains are retracting into the ceiling.

I lurch into him and he catches me against his bare chest. My hands scrabble at him, having trouble finding purchase at first because his skin is wet and slippery.

As I try to claw my way closer he tries to push me away. I know what he wants. He wants to see the words written on my forehead while I want to hide them from him.

Eventually he gives in and just holds me close, though I know I won’t be able to get out of telling him what happened.

After an indeterminable amount of time I calm enough to take one deep shuddering breath and relax my tightly strung muscles. I keep my face buried against his damp chest.

He strokes my hair slowly and soothingly. “Love? Love, I need you to look at me.”

I shake my head.

“Please, Annie?”

Shake. More insistently.

Loki sighs. His large hand cup my shoulders and he starts walking backwards pulling me with him. When we reach his bed he turns us then gently pushes me down to sit. He crouches down in front of me looking up into my face. My shoulders are hunched and my head is bowed, hair swinging into my face, preventing him from seeing my new temporary tattoo.

Loki takes both of my hands in his and strokes his thumbs over my knuckles. I feel his momentary pause and know that he’s discovered the new/old wounds in my palm. He doesn’t comment though just keeps holding on, as fresh tears prick my eyes in the face of the realization that I’ve failed him yet again by re-breaking the skin there after it had finally healed…

“Love, please? Please, will you tell me what has happened?”

I shake my head again.

“Will you at least tell me whom it is I need to dismember?”

To my surprise a soft huff of a laugh escapes me. I peek up at Loki from beneath my wet lashes. He smiles at me though I see the worry and pain in his face. He holds the palm of his hand to my cheek.

I swallow hard then slowly look up. As I do Loki uses his palm to push my hair back. I watch as his eyes cool to the temperature of liquid nitrogen, his mouth tightens into the thinnest of barely there lines, and his features harden until he looks less like a human, or even an alien, and more like a marble statue. A perfect marble statue of course. One hewn by da Vinci himself. A flawless depiction of apoplectic rage.

“Who did this?” His voice is icy cold.

I shake my head and lower my face again.

His strong fingers catch my chin and tip my face back up. His handling of me, so gentle even in his anger, is so different of Veronica’s earlier, and it makes me want to cry some more.

When I look back at him I can still see the fury simmering deep in his eyes, though he’s pushed it down for the time being so that he can take care of me. I look at him and notice for the first time that his hair is still soapy, suds drifting lazily down onto his shoulders.

It’s so random and odd that it makes me smile. I reach up and pop a bubble that floats attached to a strand of hair by his temple.

He chuckles, though the normally carefree sound is strained and heavy.

He rises and moves to the shower. Picking up his shirt he wets it and then puts some soap on it too before he returns to kneel in front of me again. Carefully he cups my chin, tilts my head to the angle he needs, then starts to wipe at my face.

I close my eyes, feeling the residual humiliation pulse through me even as the rest of my nerves slowly subside due to his sweet handling.

A loud knock ringing through the room startles me. Loki doesn’t look up, focused on cleaning my cheek. Ironman and Black Widow stand in front of the Plexiglas door.

Loki studiously ignores them. He’s probably heard them coming all the way down the hallway.

“Can we come in?” Tony calls through the sheet of Lexan.

I shrug and look at Loki. This is his domain after all. He doesn’t react to the two visitors.

I poke him. When he looks up at me I incline my head in the direction of the two. Loki rolls his eyes, shrugs, then nods.

I turn to them and nod too.

Tony swipes his card and the door opens with its usual hiss.

“Stark.” Loki greets Tony.

“Reindeer Games.” Tony fires back.

A wry smile twitches Loki’s lips. “Mewling quim.”

Natasha doesn’t respond, simply jerks her chin in his direction, her eyes on me.

I blink at her shyly. I’m not afraid of her anymore, mostly because Loki is here but also because my blind, irrational panic from earlier has subsided. I recognize now that she really only meant to help me; _did_ in fact help me.

She smiles. Her stern face is immediately transformed and I see that she looks nothing like Veronica, after all. Her face is kinder, rounder, softer. And even though I sense that she knows how to look mean, it is not the default setting of her facial expressions.

She slowly comes closer and perches on the farthest corner of the bed from me, all while Tony and Loki are still having a silent stare-off.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a handkerchief and a travel-size bottle of hand sanitizer. “May I?” she asks after squirting some onto the cloth.

I nod cautiously and edge a bit closer. Carefully she too, starts to wipe at my face, hopefully cleaning away any sharpie traces that Loki’s soap and water treatment has been unable to.

Tony sits down on my other side. Loki stays crouched in front of me, watching the two intruders closely.

“Nat told me what happened. Are you okay, kiddo?”

I shrug. Then I nod because, well, what else am I supposed to do?

“Do you know who they were? Nat mentioned Veronica Meyer, but she didn’t know the other ones.”

I look around furtively for my notepad. Loki, already prepared, hands it to me. _Someone named Travis. Corey. And Jasmine something. One more guy. They didn’t say his name._

Tony’s jaw is tight. “And you were just walking? Going about your business?”

I nod.

Tony grinds his teeth. “Rest assured, Annie, they will never bother you again because as of right now they are no longer employed here!”

I feel a wash of relief, but only a little. Because if there was one group of them then there will be another. The whole compound hates my guts for hanging out down here. Tony can’t fire everyone.

Natasha seems to have had the same thoughts. “Others could try again, Tony.”

“I know. That’s why you, Natasha, will be keeping an eye on her.”

“Done.” She says at the same time as I vehemently shake my head.

“Got an objection, kiddo?”

_Yes. She’s got other things to do. Better things. More important things. Not following me around all day and being bored._

“She’s got missions. Whichever ones are assigned to her. You’ll be her newest one.”

I keep shaking my head. It’s irrational. I know it is. But I can’t help but be afraid of this. I know she would be assigned to protect me against more incidents like today, and I’m not opposed to that. But I have no one then to protect me from _her._ And it’s not even that I think I can’t trust her, or that I believe she’ll hurt me. It’s my shitty instinctive fear and weariness of everybody nowadays. And I know that I’ll be scared either way. And at least this way she won’t have to be bothered with me… God, it sucks being stuck in my head sometimes!

 _It’s not gonna help anything if I’m seen with a tail. I mean, no offence…_ I write this to Natasha directly. _It’s not that I don’t want you around me, or that I’ve got some aversion to you._ I do, but that’s my fault, not hers. _And thank you for saving me, by the way, also. Really! Thank you! But, please, you don’t have to waste your time constantly traipsing after me on the off-chance that someone tries to graffiti my face again. I’m not worth all that trouble on your part._

She looks at me closely, her eyes impassive. “You are totally worth the trouble, but I understand why you’re opposed.”

The weird thing is, I think she does understand. And not the lame excuse that I gave her, but my real reason; my real fear. I think she gets it.

She looks at Tony. “Can you rig up an alert button? Like the kind some senior citizens have. She can press it when and if she needs my help and I can be there in seconds. In the meantime I’ll just push pencils for a bit. Fury would love to have someone do his paperwork for a while.”

Tony nods. “I can whip something up. How about it, kiddo? Does that sit better with you?”

I chew on my lower lip. I’m still wary of it but I know I need to accept some compromise. I _want_ to. I look at Loki to see what he thinks.

“I need you safe, love.” He says softly.

Out of my peripheral I catch the look Tony and Natasha exchange at Loki’s words; or maybe just the one word…

I nod.

I can practically feel the three people around me sagging in relief. And I feel guilty, that I’d caused them worry.

“I’ll get on that ASAP, then.” Tony says. “You’ll stay here tonight, I’m guessing?”

I look at Loki, who nods. “She will stay.”

“I’ll have that button delivered here either with your dinner or breakfast then. Make sure she takes it with her, sparkles.”

“She is not deaf, Stark. You can speak to her directly.” Loki says pointedly.

I suppress a smile.

“Ha, ha.” Tony turns to me. “You’ll be okay?”

I nod. _What about work?_

He gives me a look. I hold my hands up in supplication. Alright, alright.

“Hydrate, okay, kiddo?! And get some rest. I’ll talk to you soon. Nat, come on. I need your scary face with me when I fire these assholes.”

Natasha smiles as she rises. She gives Loki a wide berth then nods at me. “I’ll make those _pridurki_ regret ever messing with you.”

I frown at the foreign word.

She grins. “Russian. For assholes.”

Oh. I grin back slightly.

The first door shuts behind them. Moments later so does the second. As soon as they’re gone I slump forward, burying my face in my palms. Almost immediately Loki’s arms come around me. His lips land on the back of my neck, dropping sweet little kisses there.

I write blindly in my notebook. _Why does this shit always happen to me?!_

Loki sighs. “I think the answer to that is pretty obvious, love. Because you spend time with me.”

_I’m not stopping!_

“Nor will I ask you to. Although if I were any less selfish I would, for your own safety.”

_You’re not selfish!_

“Oh, but I very much am.”

_Doesn’t matter either way. I’m not leaving._

He sighs. “Even if it were healthier for you away from me?”

_Nowhere is healthier and better for me than with you. Get that through your head already!_

He smiles sadly. “We shall have this argument eternally.”

 _Then we’ll fucking have it eternally!_ I’m starting to get annoyed, though I suspect it’s actually panic presenting as annoyance because he sounds like he’s preparing to say goodbye. I glower at him, even as a lump rises in my throat.

He pulls me into him, one arm around my back, the other one cradling my head against his chest. I burrow my face into the hollow of his throat. “Shh, love. I am not sending you away. I have not the strength to.”

_Don’t talk like that. Don’t talk like it would be better for me.You don't get to decide that!_

"You are right, I do not get to make that decision for you..."

_And don't act like it would be so easy for you to go!_

“Easy? Being separated from you is the hardest thing I endure everyday. Everything brightens when you step into my room, as if the sun came out to play from behind the thunderheads. Letting you go would be the hardest thing, and so I shall never do so, because I, as I said, am inherently selfish, and as such I always look for the way of least resistance for myself. But caring for you? Love, that was the easiest thing I ever did.”

I draw back to look at him. He frames my face with both his palms on either one of my cheeks. “You are my life now.” He says simply.

I swallow hard as tears rise in my eyes again. I don’t know what to say to that.

He smiles softly. “Alright?”

I nod, gulping down my emotions, and collapse forwards against him again. He holds me for a long, long time and doesn’t break the hug until I draw back first.

 _Is it gone?_ I ask gesturing to my face.

He squints. “Mostly. There is a shadow of it left, but the Arachnid has left her cleaning solution. Let us wait for the irritation in your skin to calm down some, and then later on we will remove it completely.”

I nod in agreement, even though I want nothing more than for that dirty fucking word to be off me.

Loki leans forward and kisses my forehead, and miraculously the tender, loving gesture acts like soap, cleaning away some of the stain that the afternoon has left inside of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not sure about that one russian word and if its correct. I checked like four translators and they all gave me this word but I dont have any friends that are russian so I couldnt check with an actual person. So if it's wrong please do tell me and I'll fix it.  
> Other than that I hope you liked getting a new character we havent really seen in the story. Not sure how well I wrote her... Natasha is kind of an enigma to me. I love her, but she was hard to write.  
> Anyway we also get another new character coming in tomorrow. Whoooo could it beeee?!  
> Lol.  
> Thanks for readin'!


	20. Winter Workout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS aren't too intense for this chapter. Aftermath of the bullying/assault. Anxiety. Little bit of a panic attack. Also feeling inadequate and useless.  
> Other than that enjoy. And I hope y'all like the timely appearance of my other favourite character!  
> Also anyone who has read Divergent, you might recognize little parts of one of the scenes from the book, that inspired this chapter.  
> Enjoy.

  
The next day I feel, predictably, like crap. Yesterday has wrung me out physically, and as a result I was dead tired. But it also wrung me out emotionally and consequently my nightmares doubled. When Loki woke me up for the tenth time in two hours I gave up on sleep and instead listened to him read me _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_. He is in agreement, by the way, about Umbridge heading up the Worst Character list; even above Prince Joffrey though he’s a close contender for the top spot in Loki’s opinion, too. But in any case, I got no more sleep and now feel absolutely dead on my feet.

Now I’m at work. Even through my exhaustion I’m jittery and fidgety and on edge. I have no music playing, and every teensy little sound has me ready to jump out of my skin. Every time someone walks past the windows to the hallway I duck down behind the lab table.

I have the alert button in my pocket and it feels heavy with both reassurance and dread. True to his word Tony had it delivered with Loki’s breakfast this morning along with a brief description. Basically it’s a high speed pager that connects me to Black Widow who is somewhere around. If I need her _for anything at all_ (her words) I can press the big red button and she’ll come; likely ninja kicking down the door, or bursting through a solid wall, or dropping down from the ceiling vents or something equally badass. Apparently her response time is less than thirty seconds from anywhere in the building. God knows how she does it. Maybe she can apparate?!

There was also another little surprise waiting for me. I’d been dreading the mountain of work I’d have ahead of me the next few days, redoing all the work that got wallpapered over the third floor hallway yesterday. But when I got here this morning it was all there, stacked and ordered neatly on the table, along with a hot cup of coffee and a little note: _I heard that_ _you’d been having some trouble, so I thought I’d do my part to help out. Organizing seemingly insurmountable chaos is my speciality, especially after almost twenty years of working with Tony. I look forward to meeting you officially, very soon. Best, Pepper Potts._

I’d felt a lump rising in my throat in the face of this woman's kindness, especially when she had never even met me.

Lunchtime rolls around and I’m agitated. I’m furious with myself, still, for yesterday; with my weakness, my vulnerability, and my general inability to defend myself. I need to do _something._ I can’t be Annie Ellis, _sitting duck_ anymore, just waiting for the asshole patrol to accost me again under new leadership.

And so, trembling with a residual impotent rage, I make my way down to the second floor F wing; a long forgotten and largely abandoned part of the Compound. Ages ago I’d discovered, though I hadn’t cared at that point, that at the very end of this dingy hallway is a sad little ‘Agents Only' exercise room containing mostly mismatched free weights and an antiquated treadmill. There is also the fixation of my attentions: a gigantic black punching bag, hanging in the middle of the room over a single, ratty, gray mat.

I push open the door bearing the battered label: EXORCISE RO M 2, and wonder idly if the spelling mistake was as accident or intentional. Exercise has usually felt like an exorcism to me, so maybe someone else shared that mindset and purposely mislabeled the door.

I glance around even though I know I’m alone and won’t be disturbed. No one uses this room; they all use one of the glossy, high-tech gyms that can be found in each floor’s A wing. Part of the reason I decided to come here. Isolation, obviously, because I’m a hermit, but also so that no one could watch me make a fool of myself and laugh at me, because I am _not_ in shape!

I have no idea how one even begins one of these so called work outs; I think I’m supposed to warm up, so I just jump up and down in place for a few seconds, shaking out my wrists. I feel stupid, so I desist and move into position in front of the punching bag.

I look around furtively to ensure that no one, not even a stray spider, or a pigeon on the windowsill is watching me, then I punch the heavy bag with everything I’ve got.

It barely moves.

I try again.

Same result.

Frustration quickly mounts as I hit the bag over and over. No matter how hard I hit it, it still barely sways from its position. My knuckles sting and quickly turn red. Tears start in my eyes as I realize just how pathetic I truly am. I couldn’t hurt a fly, much less another hypothetical attacker. My heart pounds in my ears, mixing with the sounds of flesh hitting tough fabric. The bag is blurry through the veil of frustrated, angry, and hopeless tears that roll down my red and sweaty face. I’m desperately trying to suck in enough air to keep going, but I also don’t stop, even though my lungs are on fire. Who cares if I pass out? What does it matter? I’m useless at this anyway! _Why_ did I think that I could ever be anything but a victim?!

“Try using your elbows instead.”

The voice comes from behind me. I spin around my heart in my throat, chest heaving.

There’s a man leaning lazily in the doorway. He’s tall and broad with brown hair that hangs down to tickle his chin. He’s wearing exercise gear; shorts, runners, a tank top. But perhaps most eye catching about him is his left arm. It's made entirely out of metal from the fingers up to the shoulder, the flickering light from the worn out bulb reflecting off the silver surface.

I swallow hard and back away a step. Maybe it wasn’t so smart to come here after all. The fact that there’s no one else around suddenly doesn’t sound so positive anymore. I fumble for the alert button, not quite pressing it yet, but getting ready to.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He holds up both of his hands in front of him. My eyes stay glued to his metal one. “You’re Annie, right? Nat and Steve told me about you.”

Geez, are they all sending inter office memos about me amongst themselves? Still, I don’t mind too much really; I know I’ve been the derisive talk of the Compound a few times now, and at least if the word comes from Natasha or Steve then it can’t have been _all_ bad. Right?

“I’m Bucky.”

Barnes? Of course! The Winter Soldier! Ex-master assassin and Russian ghost story. Now the metal arm makes sense. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together before.

“Can I come in?” he asks softly.

I hesitate, then I nod. I couldn’t really stop him anyway.

He comes closer but stops when he reaches the edge of the mat I’m standing on, which leaves about six feet of space between us. His gaze travels up and down my body, eyes narrowed slightly. He doesn’t linger anywhere, simply completes a practical, thorough, scientific perusal. “You don’t have much muscle,” he notes. “And you’re not particularly tall. Which means you’re better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them and inflict more damage.”

I blink at him confused. Is he helping me? Why?

He smiles benignly. “Want me to show you?”

Well, I think as I step back, why look a gift horse in the mouth?!

Bucky takes position in the center of the mat and shows me how to properly use my elbow for a blow that uses maximum strength, power, and accuracy. He demonstrates first in slow motion, then at full speed, on both the air and on the punching bag. Then he directs me to do the same.

It takes me a few tries to figure out how to position my body and make it move like his. But I catch on with practice. When he tells me to try it on the punching bag I clench my teeth and put all my power behind my striking elbow.

The impact judders through me and my forearm stings. But the bag moves. _It moves!_ I turn to Bucky with a wide, proud smile.

He smiles back at me. “Good job, doll. Do it again.”

I do. I hit the bag a few more times sending it swinging back and forth on its chain.

Suddenly he presses his metal hand to my stomach. His fingers are long, and the cold from the metal leeches through my shirt down to my skin below. I freeze, instinctively realizing the threat of both the highly trained warrior who has his hands on me, and also the one presented solely by this deathly metal appendage of his. My heart pounds so hard my chest hurts, and it’s not just from the physical exertion.

“Always remember to keep tension here.” He says in a low voice, before he becomes aware that something is off. He looks up from his own hand, into my huge, frightened eyes only inches from his.  
  
He backs away immediately. I stand frozen still, like a deer in headlights. He hastily backs up a few more steps. “I’m sorry!” his voice is soft and urgent. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, or… grab you, or try anything… come on to you... or… or anything like that. It’s just… I used to teach others like you and I’d often have to step in and make adjustments to their stances. I wasn’t thinking. It was instinctive. I’m sorry!”

He looks utterly miserable standing there halfway across the room from me. I lick my dry lips then forcibly unclench my muscles, and nod at him. Relief bathes his face.

He takes in my panting. “Did you bring water?”

I shake my head.

“Here.” He rolls his own plastic water bottle across the floor to me.

I pick it up gratefully and guzzle.

“You should bring some tomorrow.”

I frown. Tomorrow?

He grins crookedly. “Yea, you wanna learn how to defend yourself, right? I can teach you.” His face and voice become unsure. “Unless… you’d rather it not be me. I understand if that’s what you want, don’t worry.”

I hesitate, staring at him. I’m not getting any vibes from him. At least not beyond the ones I get from everyone else. I think he’s okay. Like Tony, and Steve. Not like Agent Brenner. Or even Lucas who I thought was fine despite what my gut was originally telling me. I give him a tiny nod.

His answering smile is huge, spreading across his face making his nose scrunch up and the corners of his eyes crinkle. He looks adorable; not at all like the most deadly assassin in the world.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

I nod, realizing that lunch is over and I need to get back to work. I glance down at his water bottle that I’m still holding, then up at him.

“You can just put it down there.” He says gently, sensing my reluctance to approach him.

I do, then look back up.

He smiles. “See you tomorrow?”

I nod once, wave, then sprint from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUCKYYYYYY!!!!!! Did anyone catch that hint in the title? I feel like it was super obvious. Was it?  
> So obviously in this story Bucky and Tony have kind of made up/hashed out their differences enough to live under the same roof at least. Again, timeline's wonky so in my head this is not after Civil War, and also S.H.I.E.L.D. still exists too so it doesn't really make sense in the official MCU timeframes. Shh, I dont care! For the purpose of this story we shall pretend that everything worked out somehow... Steve has his best friend, hes still friends with Tony, and Bucky has been unbrainwashed and redeemed. Hooray! This is my shitty, lazy way of saying that I just reaaaaaally wanted some Bucky Barnes in this story. But seriously, dont think to hard on the timeline; my brain fries whenever I even consider making this story fit it somehow. Easier not to. Theres enough going on, I think I'd combust if I had to remember timeline too. Maybe that makes me a lazy writer. Eh...  
> Anyway, enough with my senseless musings; thank you again, so much for reading. Here's an imaginary apple pie for all of you awesome people! 🥧


	21. Do You See Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny TRIGGER WARNING for some angst. Other than that a lot of cheesiness and fluff sweet enough to rot several teeth.  
> This is more of a filler chapter, but I still kinda like it. Not to much to say about it either other than I hope you like it.

  
The next evening I’m lying on my stomach on Loki’s bed while Loki himself is lightly straddling my hips and massaging my aching shoulders.

I am so sore! I went back to the exercise room to meet Bucky today and he puts through my paces. He had me review the elbow strikes from yesterday, then showed me how to strike higher and lower, explaining the best places to hit an assailant. He spent the entire time keeping a respectable distance between us, not crowding me and generally trying to make me feel as safe and at ease as possible under the circumstances. And it worked; somewhat. I definitely felt a tad more relaxed than yesterday. This whole endeavour took us through my lunch hour and he promised that next time he would teach me how to use my knees as well as my elbows. He also told me that I shouldn’t feel obligated to come back everyday. He told me that he was usually there everyday training himself, and whenever I wanted to join him I should feel free to, but I didn’t have to feel like I needed to if I was tired, wanted a break, or just didn’t feel like it that day.

Yesterday I also told Loki about meeting Bucky and what he’d taught me. He was very happy to hear about it, and expressed his approval. And now he gets to massage my aching muscles. Damn, I am out of shape!

I’m doodling absently in my notebook while Loki kneads my shoulders. My fingers are worrying the corner of the page, debating whether to flip it and show him the question I scribbled earlier. The neurotic half of my brain is trying its best to talk me out of it, while the rational side tells me to just ask; it’s not like I’m after his bank account password or something. Geez!

In the end I compromise by scrawling a new, preliminary question in the midst of my crappy little doodles. _Can I ask you something?_

He leans forward to read, bracing himself on my shoulders so he doesn’t put any of his weight on me.

He’s silent for a very long time. So long that I eventually look up at him over my shoulder. He’s watching me with an inquisitive look on his face, his dark eyebrows knitted together.

“You know you can ask me anything, right, love? I endeavour to have no secrets from you.”

I turn around and he rises to give me room to do so. He doesn’t move off me, but I can sense that he’s monitoring my reaction, ready to do so in case I suddenly become anxious or triggered. He laces his fingers with mine beside my head and sits back very lightly on my belly.

Once upon a time not all that long ago someone else pinned me down very similarly to this. It shows the absolute trust I have in Loki that I’m able to let him do it now without even a second thought. His hold on me is ultra light and I know that if I move even a fraction of an inch he will let go.

He’s still studying me, his eyes roaming all over my face; searching, searching for something. “I will be only to happy to answer any question you have, darling, but will you permit me to ask one of you first?”

I nod carefully.

He sits up, scoops me into his arms, then plops me down in his lap. He passes me my notebook then sweeps the hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. “Why do you always get so nervous and hesitant before you ask me a question?” His voice is soft, his fingers gentle as they comb through the hair at my temple.

I swallow, chewing on my lip as I think of how to best articulate my answer. _~~I just~~ I always feel like it’s unfair whenever I ask you to tell me things about you and I don’t tell you things about me. ~~Not~~ I don’t think so because you’re being weird or angry or contrary or whatever. I just I think so. ~~You know~~ I know so much stuff about you now, private stuff, heavy stuff, but also good stuff, nice stuff, light things, things about who you are, how you are. And you know so little about me. And I_

Loki reaches out gently and stops my pen. “Oh, love… how can you say such things? You think I do not know you? Love, there is no one I know better.”

He looks at me and I look back at him with wide eyes. I want to write but his large hand is still wrapped around mine, trapping my pencil.

A soft smile graces his lips as he begins to speak in a soothing, melodious voice. “I see the way you always put your hair up whenever you work, putting it into that little twist and securing it with a clip. I watch you in the morning when you take that first sip of tea, how your eyes close as you let the warmth seep through you. I know you love books, and I see the way your eyes light up when you hold your favourite titles; the way your fingers stroke the spine of every book you hold just before you open it. I see the crazy colorful socks you sometimes wear inside your shoes and beneath the hems of your trousers and I understand that you love wacky and unique clothes, but you won’t let yourself wear them anymore because you feel it does not express who you are. I watch you listening to music and I know that in your mind you are singing along. I hear you humming softly in time occasionally; it happens more often than I think you realize, and I know that you are lost in your favourite songs, letting yourself get swept away by the melodies. I know you love sweet treats. I see the way you excavate the cookie bits out of those little tubs of ice cream they serve every Sunday. I know you actually prefer vanilla, but only truly good vanilla and that is difficult to find, and so you settle for chocolate. I know you love with every piece of your heart, and even though you have been shattered you are rebuilding yourself bit by bit. You care so deeply about those who matter to you but you are afraid that they do not care for you in return because you do not believe that you are worth caring for. I watch you day after day as you come and go, and each time you step through those doors you bring light and meaning into my existence. I watched you as you learned to trust me. You share things with me without even knowing. I know you, love. I see you. I have seen you since the first morning you stumbled across me. And I have never stopped seeing you everywhere since. You are scored on my heart, every part of you. And I am thankful that there are still things about you left for me to discover. I want to spend the rest of eternity discovering everything there is to know about you, no matter how grand or little, and I pray that I never run out.”

My eyes are huge in my face as I stare at him. My god, he does know me. Everything hes said about me is true down to the crazy clothes. I _did_ use to wear funky fashions but I stopped when wild colors and geometric patterned tights and flirty flying skirts no longer represented the person I thought I was; the darkness I felt inside. The socks are all I still wear mostly because normally they can’t be seen, but more because I just never manage to get around to buying any darker ones, and when I’d originally replenished my wardrobe with black clothes, I’d forgotten to buy socks.

Even though he released my writing hand somewhere at the start of his sonnet, Loki appears to understand that I am momentarily lost for words. He pulls me into him, turning me sideways on his lap, and tucks my head under his chin. My ear rests right over his heart, its steady beat thrumming in beneath it; the best melody, better even than any Beatles song.

“So you see, you must never be afraid to ask me anything? Not for any reason, or because you feel like I am not getting an equal exchange out of our relationship. Alright?”

I nod.

“What _did_ you want to ask me?”

Oh, right. My question. I don’t want to extravagate my way out of his embrace to reach my notebook and so I just reach up and lightly tap the collar he’s wearing around his neck.

I feel him stiffen minutely. “The collar?”

I nod.

“Are you asking why I wear it?”

Nod. Honestly I can’t fathom why this question has never occurred to me before. I guess somehow I just got used to him wearing the thing and so it never really occurred to me that it didn’t belong. Which is actually kinda dumb of me.

He sighs. “It suppresses my magical abilities.”

I sit up straighter. Something else I keep forgetting: he can do magic! He’s basically Harry Potter. Or maybe he’s more like Dumbledore… or, no, Sirius Black. And he’s a prisoner too. I wish I could just free him with clothes… _Annie has given Loki a sock. Loki is freeeeeeee_!

“I think it possesses some has some electroshock capabilities as well, for emergencies, should I ever attack one of my minders…” he muses. “They have never had reason to use those yet, thank Bor; should they even exist.”

I can’t contain it any longer. I twist out of his hold and fumble for my notebook. _So what kind of magic can you do?_

He smiles. “Telepathy, telekinesis, shapeshifting, teleportation, and I can create illusions of almost anything.”

_Teleportation? So basically you can apparate?_

He laughs. “Essentially, yes.”

I look up at him, envisioning all the things he could do and thinking once again, how I do not measure up next to him _at all!_

“Stop it.” He says softly, rubbing his thumb over the space between my eyebrows, smoothing out the frown line there. “You are once again thinking yourself inadequate beside me. I assure you, you are more than my equal. Perhaps not in the same ways, but that would be tedious. You are just as incredible as I am. Perhaps even a little bit more.” He grins.

_Bit full of yourself, huh?_

“Me?” he asks, feigning shock. “How dare you say such a thing? I am the most humble being ever to walk this planet.”

I giggle.

He smiles.

_You are pretty great._

“Mmm, do go on. Please.”

_Ok. You’re kind. And sweet. And cute. And hot. And completely head over heels for me!_

He laughs. “Correct on every count. But you did leave out charming, enigmatic, and intelligent, with a razor sharp wit.”

_Ah, yes. How could I forget?!_

He chuckles quietly as he pulls me closer, his soft laughter shaking my own body where it’s curled up against his. “Norns, love, what did I ever do with myself before I met you?”

_Rotted, bored to death in prison?_

“Even before.”

_Enjoyed a spoiled and pampered lifestyle as any prince rightfully should?_

“True, but even being petted and preened had little meaning looking back now, as did all the battles I fought. And won!” He takes my chin between two fingers, turning my face towards his, his voice becoming serious. “Day one of my life was the day I met you.”

That single little line oddly touches me and I stare at him dumbstruck as everything inside me goes gooey. Then I surge into him, writing without looking on the thing closest to me which just happens to be his forearm. _I’m mad about you, you know that?!_

“Liked that one, did you?” he teases, squeezing me tightly.

I laugh aloud, startled and pleased by his sense of humor.

“It is the truth, though.” He whispers in my ear.

And I melt anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the story may be slowing down. I dont know if anyone else feels that way, but if anyone should it will be picking up soonish. So hang tight. And thank you for reading!!!


	22. Opening a Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for a bit of angst, guilt, anxiety, and some minor little flashbacks. We get the parents back again a little bit. We'll find out more about them soon. Other than that, I hope you like.

About a week later I wake up with the sun on my face. When my eyes open I see Loki sitting up in bed beside me. My head is resting on his thigh and one of his hands is stroking through my hair. His other hand is holding his book aloft. He looks down at me with a soft smile as I stretch in a way that is too luxurious for this tiny little bed.

“Good morning.”

I smile then rise up, clumsily climbing into his lap straddling his thighs. He lays his book aside, hands coming up to rest lightly on my hips.

He gives me a come hither look and I obey it, bending down to kiss him. His lips move gently against mine as he slowly deepens the kiss until I’m panting, wanting, desperate for more.

He pulls back. “Are you hungry?”

I shake my head. Not for food.

He grins. “That is unfortunate. Because I am!” And he flips me around, dumping me to bounce on the mattress as he scoots away toward where the breakfast tray stands waiting.

Damn it. I sit up glaring at him as he comes back holding the tray. His eyes laugh at me as he sits down on the bed. I scoot back so I sit facing him. He digs into his breakfast while I nibble on a slice of toast and nurse my regular cup of earl grey with lemon.

Suddenly my phone chimes a text alert from where I’d left it beside the bed last night. Loki leans sideways and fishes it up, passing it to me. I already know who it is; my parents are the only one who have my number, and my dad doesn’t text me.

I look down at it. It’s her weekly text of _How are you, honey?”_

I text back my obligatory answer of _Fine_ then put my phone down thinking I’m off the hook for another week. I feel the guilt twisting up my insides but I can’t deal with it right now, so I close my eyes, holding my steaming mug in both hands and let the wave blast over me until it’s just a dull throbbing low in my belly.

“Your mother?” Loki asks gently.

I nod.

My phone chirps again. Frowning, I pick it up. My mother again. Obviously. _Are you still spending lots of time with Loki?_

I peek up at him. _Yes._ At her urging I’d told her a few things about him, including that he makes it better. She hasn’t figured out who Loki is, I don’t think, which is good ‘cause she’d probably freak. And I mean completely out! Loki is watching me so I scoot to the side then tilt my phone so he can read the screen with me.

_Daddy keeps asking about this guy you spend all your time with._

I also conveniently forgot to mention that Loki is in prison. I look up at him. He’s watching me from beneath his lowered brow, eyes sparkling. As I look at him a slow wolfish smile starts in his green eyes then spreads across his face until I can see the full expanse of his teeth, gleaming at me.

_You can tell Daddy that he’s a gentleman._

_I’ve told him that he makes you smile which is even better. But honey why don’t you tell him yourself? Tell us yourself. Just call us. Just try._

My hand clenches around my phone. _I can’t_.

_Don’t say that. You will. Just give it time._

Time. Of course. My jaw clenches and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I’m distracted by the warmth radiating off Loki when he leans forward to read. He smells like a combination of the mint he always smells like, the orange he’d just eaten, and the bed we’d just crawled out of. I want to shove the tray to the floor and drag him back there. I don’t answer my mother’s text, hoping that she’ll go back to her hands off approach of texting me once a week, even as the guilt of thinking that, curdles my insides.

Another message beeps through. _Are you being careful?_

Loki clears his throat and abruptly sits back.

I blink confused, looking between him and the screen of my phone a few times, until it clicks. Oh, God. She didn’t mean it like that, did she? My face flames uncomfortably hot.

I text back evasively: _I’m fine_.

Loki’s lips twitch with the smile he’s suppressing. I kick him, and his body shakes with silent laughter.

_Where’s he taking you tonight?_

I look up at Loki. His eyes are glued to my face, narrowed slightly. “What’s tonight?”

I bite my lip, then type my answer to him in my phone’s note section. _My birthday_.

He sits back, looking surprised, then thoughtful, collecting orange peels in his hand and dumping them into my empty tea cup.

I text my mom. _Not sure. He says it’s a surprise. I gotta go._ A lie, obviously, but she won’t know. But the prospect of me having plans will make her happy. And then because the guilt is still gnawing at me. _I love you mom. Tell daddy too._ I mute my phone then shove it under the pillow.

Loki is sitting, watching me when I look up. “Today is your birthday?”

I nod then shrug.

“Why did you not tell me?”

I angle for my notebook and pen. _I don’t really celebrate my birthday. Not anymore._

He inclines his head. “Will you celebrate with me?”

I frown. _What did you have in mind?_

He smiles crookedly. “It is a surprise, just as you told your mother.”

I slump dejected. I hate surprises. But still, I guess if there’s anyone who I’d tolerate receiving a surprise from it would be Loki.

“Alright?”

I nod.

“Very well. Then get out of here.”

My eyes widen. What?

He ruffles my hair then kisses my forehead. “I must plan for your surprise, and hence you cannot be here for the process.”

Oh. Yea okay, that makes sense.

“I shall expect you back at 6.” He instructs.

_Shall I dress up?_

He smiles gently, cupping my cheek. “If you wish. You will look beautiful no matter what you wear.”

I blush slightly. He leans down and kisses me once, sweetly and chastely.

“See you tonight.” He speaks against my lips.

It’s 3pm and I’m pacing in front of my open closet in frustration. I have nothing, _nothing_ to wear. I know he said I could wear whatever, that he won’t care if I show up looking like I usually do, that he’ll be in his usual prison garb anyway so if I wear something nice it’ll clash fantastically, but still. I feel the need to impress him somewhat, just this once I want to look nice, not just for him but also for me. But mostly for him. I haven’t had this urge in two years now, so while it’s here I want to act on it. But all I have in my closet are long sleeve shirts in various shades of dark grey and black, equally gloomy colored band t-shirts that I wear to sleep, dark blue jeans and black yoga pants.

Unless…

I bite my lip so hard it almost splits, as my gaze wanders involuntarily up to the top shelf of my closet. Up there is that medium sized cardboard box crammed with all the things I’d taken from home when I moved out last year. It’s not much, and I’ve never actually opened it. In fact I didn’t even pack it and I have no idea what’s in it. My mom packed my suitcase when I left, and when I moved into my tiny little apartment I’d dumped the contents of said suitcase into this exact box which I’d then duct taped shut without once even looking inside. I hadn’t wanted to see the reminders of the life I’d once had, the evidence of the girl I’d once been. I’d had this insane idea in my head that I could start fresh, and that then maybe everything would go away, get left behind, get back to being some semblance of normal. Wishful thinking!

I’d bought the new wardrobe that now resides in my closet, and I’d shoved the box into the back of it. I’d meant to just throw it out originally, but in the end I hadn’t been able to go through with it.

Slowly I pull it down from the shelf and carry it to my bed. Then I stand there for way too long, staring at it. Finally I kick myself into motion, find a box cutter and slice through the duct tape that holds the ghosts of my past inside the worn cardboard. With a deep breath I flip the lids open like I’m laying open an autopsied cadaver. Which in a way I kind of am: my own, the Annie of _before._

The smell that billows out of the box chokes me. Not because it smells bad, but because it smells like home. It smells like the cat bed, and the cinnamon cookies that were always present in a bowl on the coffee table. It smells like Old Spice and Chanel Number Five. It smells like love and like everything I lost.

I blink the tears out of my eyes and focus on my mission. Breathing through my mouth, I begin to dig methodically through the box. I try to remain unfeeling and unseeing, trying to find the texture of fabric only, and not focus on what else is in this box, but my hands betray me, telling me exactly what I’m holding from the weights and shapes. A book, a shoe, a stuffed animal, my CD player, a rolled up poster, something round and solid that I’m not sure what is, and then there: there, that’s fabric! A whole pile of it. I pull it out and sort swiftly through the clothing, all in bright happy colors that I haven’t worn in years. And then, lo and behold, a dress!

I pull it out of the pile and stand holding it up. It is a deep, rich purple and made from soft cotton. The waist cinches inwards and the skirt flares out from above my hips to hit right over my knees. It has capped sleeves and a neckline that, while not too low, will still expose just a hint of cleavage. I have never actually worn it but I remember buying it about two weeks before _it_ happened. My best friend Melissa and I went to the mall and spent the day shopping, eating pizza and ice cream, and scoping out cute guys. It was the calm after the storm that was the stress of getting my doctorate. My research paper was done and I’d decided to give myself the rare treat of spending an entire day with a friend. The day _it_ happened was the same idea. Melissa was there too. She was the one who found me after.

I shake the memories from my head. Yes. Okay. Focus. I have a dress. Suddenly I realize what the solid round thing was and I go back to the box. After a quick rummage I pull out my old curling iron. Of course my mom packed that; she loved it when I curled my hair. I’m just closing the box again when the white pouch with the pink flowers peeks out at me from underneath my battered copy of _Pride and Prejudice._ I pull it out, my face scrunched up in thought. My makeup bag. I haven’t worn makeup in two years. Should I..?

A knock on the door startles me. I jump about a mile, dropping the makeup bag with a clatter. I hurry to the door wishing as always that it had come installed with a peephole so I can see who it is before I open it and announce that I'm here. What if I wanted to avoid the person outside?!

I open the door a crack and peek out. A tall woman stands in front of me. A very, very tall woman, made even taller by the killer skyscraper heels she's wearing. She's sporting the most snappy, badass, navy blue power-suit I've ever seen. Her hair is strawberry blonde and scraped into a tight and perky ponytail. Her face is dusted with freckles. She's smiling.

"Hi. I'm Pepper."

Potts?! My eyes must widen because the renown CEO of Stark Industries smiles widely. "I told you I was looking forward to meeting you soon."

I swallow. Why is she here? Am i in trouble? I have no official affiliation with Stark Industries? So why should I be in trouble? With her? Should i let her in? I should probably let her in.

I step aside. She thanks me softly and walks inside. I shut the door behind her and press my back against it. She surveys the room, taking in the mess I've made with the contents of my box strewn about everywhere. I'm reminded of her note and how she says she's an expert in uncontainable chaos. Is this uncontainable chaos to her? That would be a bit of an exaggeration, I think...

She turns to survey me. Am _I_ uncontrollable chaos? Actually... yea... yes, I am.

"How are you, Annie? May I call you Annie?"

I nod, then shrug.

Ms. Potts pulls a yellow legal pad out of the pocket of her jacket and passes it to me. I can't help but smile slightly. So prepared! Such a boss!

"I'm sorry for showing up unnanounced like this. I actually didn't think you'd be in."

I shrug, then scribble: _Thank you for reorganizing all that paperwork. It was a HUGE help!_

"Absolutely no problem. I heard what happened and I, well, I just wanted to do something to make life a bit easier for you."

_No offence, but why? I mean, you don't really even know me..._

"True. But Tony's been talking about you a lot lately and so I just wanted an excuse to say hi."

_About me?_

"Yep. He's very impressed with the work you're doing and he's been re-reading a lot of your old research papers. It's very rare that someone intellectually fascinates Tony Stark, so I make it a point to always meet the few individuals who do."

_I'm really not that fascinating!_

"Don't say that, hon. You've managed to impress one of the most brilliant minds of this time. And I'm not just saying that because I'm engaged to the guy. He is brilliant. Of course he's also a brilliant pain in my ass, but you've impressed him either way."

I smile slightly. It's clear that Ms. Potts loves Tony very much.

"But I see I've distracted you in the middle of something..."

I shrug. _I was just trying to decide what to wear tonight..._

"Oh. What's the occasion, if I may ask?"

_My birthday._

"Well, happy birthday to you, Annie. I suppose I'll leave you to it, and wish you a very fun time on your date."

I nod smiling. She smiles back then makes to leave. There's an internal battle waging within me, born out of the familiar smell of Chanel Number 5 that wafted from the box earlier; a perfume which Pepper Potts also wears. I miss my mother, I suddenly realize, with startling ferocity. I miss her kindness, her laughter, the way she'd braid my hair, how she'd hug me, listen to me; our mother-daughter moments.

And maybe it's this sudden melancholyness and longing for maternal closeness that has me following Ms. Potts and very lightly grazing her sleeve with my fingers to catch her attention. 

She turns around smiling questioningly. 

_~~Can you~~ Could you help me, maybe? If you have time? I just haven't really worn makeup and stuff in years and I don't really know where to even begin even making myself look presentable for tonight..._

Her smile grows. "Of course. Absolutely. Yes. We're gonna knock your date's socks off!"

Surprised at her genuine excitement and at how ready she is to help me, I follow her back into the room, inanely thinking all the while that Loki doesn't actually wear socks...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the end part with Pepper I added in super late. I dont know I just wanted more Ms. Potts and this seemed like as good a place to put her as I'd likely find. I hope it doesn't feel forced. But I have Tony acting sort of paternal and so it made sense to have Pep acting maternal and/or big sister-ly. Eh, still not sure, but it happened so there it is.  
> Birthday party next. I hope it makes sense that Annie doesn't like celebrating her bday. I gave her that trait of my own. Like dont get me wrong, I love presents and shit; I just hate being the center of attention. And especially after what she's been through, I saw annie being the same.  
> But any way, what will happen? What does Loki have planned? The suspense..!  
> Lol, k I'm done being dramatic. Thank you for reading!


	23. Birthday Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm super riled because I went to Pride today and I think I'm still high on all the excitement. Woooo. So you'll probably get two chapters just because I am so on fire and I'm gonna channel all that energy into editing. Yay. Enjoy.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS for mentions of self ha scars, minor bad memories, and some angst. Also more smut. *clears throat! Kinda fitting cause I got like five packs worth of condoms in handouts during the parade so maybe that's a sign. Who knows... But there are no cherry flavoured rubbers in this story though I do have like ten of them in my drawer now. TMI? Dont care. Too hyper! Anyway enjoy the fluff and cheese.  
> HAPPY PRIDE!!! 🌈

Three hours later I’m walking down to the basement, for once not garnering any hateful looks. Instead I get a few double takes. I’m like 99.9% sure that it’s because no one recognizes me, which is an interesting change. I’d hardly recognized myself when I looked in the mirror. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that though, to be honest. But Ms. Potts; Pepper as she’d asked me to call her, did an absolutely amazing job. And I actually had fun, and didn’t think too much about the implications of the literal and metaphorical boxes I’d opened.

When I arrive at Loki’s cell I’m too preoccupied with watching my feet to make sure I don’t trip in the modestly heeled shoes Pepper’s coerced me into wearing, and so I don’t look up until the second door hisses and slides out of my way. When my eyes come up it’s just in time to see Loki straightening and turning towards me from where he’d been bent over, lighting a candle. We both freeze, staring.

The tiny room is transformed. There are candles everywhere, covering everything. Dozens of little tea lights that cast a low, beautiful, flickering light. The barren walls and ceiling are hung with some kind of black satin sheets, and there is a soft green carpet on the floor. Loki himself is dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt that’s tucked into the pants and rolled up at the sleeves to his elbows. He’s still wearing the collar, but his hair is slicked back from his face with some sort of product. His usually bare feet are encased in shiny black oxfords. He looks incredible!

Loki’s own eyes meanwhile are roving all over me. I know what he sees. I’m wearing the dress which accentuates all my generous curves, which have gotten a lot softer and less angular under his diligent insurance that I eat more. My legs are bare, and I’m wearing shoes that while making me an inch and a half taller still leave me having to look up into Loki’s face. The low neckline reveals the tops of my full breasts, and I see Loki’s eyes snag there for just a second too long to be considered casual. I’d thrown on a thin, pale lavender button up sweater, and just enough makeup to accentuate my facial features. Pepper did wind up convincing me to let her curl my hair which now falls in soft gentle waves down my back, pulled off my face and clipped together with a silver barrette that once belonged to my grandmother, that she had given me for my fifteenth birthday.

Loki swallows heavily. “You look breathtakingly beautiful!” he says in a hoarse voice, coming forward and kissing me gently, obliterating my lip gloss. I’m not too bothered by it, but I do tuck my thumb into the sleeve of my pullover, and wipe the shiny smear from his lips. I smile up at him and gesture to his own clothes then around the room.

He doesn’t need me to write down my question to know what I’m asking.

“The Man of Iron assisted me in setting all of this up.”

I feel my eyebrows rise in disbelief.

Loki smiles ruefully. “He reminded me repeatedly that he was doing it for you, not for me.”

Yea, okay, that sounds like Tony. He probably also sent Pepper my way, now that I think about it… I make a mental note to thank him.

Loki pulls a white rose from behind his back and hands it to me with a little bow. I take it with a huge smile, sinking my nose between the velvety petals and inhaling deeply. It smells divine. And it’s white. My favourite color. He’d remembered!

Loki takes my hand and pulls me down onto the carpet. He procures a picnic basket seemingly from nowhere, whipping the top off with a flourish. Inside is a meal fit only for a king! Italian. I’d once mentioned that I loved Italian.

Loki begins to lay it all out while I simply watch dumbfounded at how be pulled all of this together in only a few short hours, even with Tony’s help.

The appetizer he sets up is a basket of fresh bread, still warm, with a dish of olive oil and herbs. Loki scoots over until he can tuck me under his arm, then tears off a chunk of bread, dips it in the oil, and holds it out to me. I take it directly form his fingers with my lips, savoring the fluffy texture and the sharp flavour of the seasoning. He feeds me a few more pieces, eating some himself in the spaces when I’m chewing. The main course is a minestrone which he spoon feeds me. It is delicious, the rich tastes firing up my taste buds like nothing has in the past two years. Dessert is tiramisu which absolutely highlights the amazing meal, and I can’t help but lean up after every forkful to steal kisses that taste like coffee, cocoa, and sugar.

The sun is slanting through the windows, bathing us in warm evening light by the time we finish eating. I feel full and good and lazy in a way I haven’t felt in a long, long time. I lean against Loki’s side with one of his arms around me, the other on my thigh, massaging little circles into my skin through the thin cotton of the dress. Occasionally one of his fingers brushes over my bare skin and I focus all of my attention on not squirming under his touch. When I finally cross my legs, restless, I see the smile playing around his lips from the corner of my eyes.

“You are blushing.” He whispers in my ear which of course only makes me blush harder. He laughs softly.

I write slowly into my notebook, laying it beside my legs where he can’t see it from the angle we’re sitting at. It’s a question I’d been wanting to ask for a while, but never quite got up the courage to.

“Will you show me what you wrote, or will you make me guess?” he asks. He’s distracting the hell out of me with those little circles that he’s still drawing, now not only into my thigh, but also into my upper arm where his other hand rests.

I hold the notebook up. _Why did you stay here? Why didn’t you go back to Asgard?_

“After the battle? It would not have changed my fate. Lifetime imprisonment either way. And in any case it did not matter where I went since there were none over there who I cared about anymore enough to want to return. Except one, and I was too afraid of seeing the disappointment on her face.”

His mother, I realize. I ache for him.

_I’m glad you stayed. If you had gone back I never would have met you._

He smiles tenderly. “The one good thing to come out of all of this. The _best_ thing!”

He holds me in silence as we watch the tea lights slowly go out one by one.

“Are you ready for the rest of your surprise?” he asks when the sun outside has set, leaving the sky outside the window as dark as the blackout drapes along the walls.

I nod animatedly.

He leans around and fiddles with something, and then several things happen at once. The overhead lights go out, plunging the room into concrete darkness. Then little pinpricks of light begin to bloom on the ceiling, dimly at first, and then brighter, glittering and twinkling like diamonds. Like stars, I realize when suddenly music starts playing. Music that I recognize as my favourite Beatles song in the world. I turn to look at him, my eyes wide. He rests his lips against my temple. “Happy birthday.” He murmurs against my skin.

I disengage myself from his hold and stand up. I stand in the middle of his tiny cell looking up at the ceiling which sparkles with thousands of fake stars that look so real, while _Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds_ plays softly in the background.

Somewhere in the back recesses of my mind the thought lingers that I’d had a bad experience looking up at stars like this and that I’d never wanted to do it again, but Loki’s thoughtfulness, his sweet gesture, the care behind this gift, eclipses any trepidations. I feel something get knocked loose inside me as a lump forms in my throat. I spread my arms wide and start to twirl. I twirl and twirl and twirl around and around underneath the counterfeit star strewn heavens until I’m too dizzy to stand. When I fall, Loki catches me and lowers me down onto the soft carpet, which I now realize is supposed to be reminiscent of grass.

He leans up on one elbow to look down at me, his face so soft, so full of emotion, and I realize what’s just been knocked loose in me. I want to tell him that I love him. I do. I love him. And I want to tell him; not write it; _say_ it. Out loud. Right now. Before I overthink it.

But he beats me to the punch, opening his mouth before I can. “I knew it,” he whispers leaning closer, looking deeply into my eyes. “It’s you. You’re the one. _The girl with kaleidoscope eyes…_ ”

I don’t think about it, I just twist in his arms, tangling my legs with his, attempting to roll us. He realizes what it is I want, and complies readily, until he’s flat on his back and I’m sitting astride him. I lay my hands on his chest for balance. My dress is hiked up, exposing my thighs and Loki is motionless beneath me, drinking me in.

My gaze snags on his mouth and I lean down slowly, just barely brushing my lips over his. He kisses me back with that indelible self control that he possesses. He doesn’t act, doesn’t try to take over even though he’s the one with all the experience; he just lies back letting me do what I want. It’s thrilling and infuriating at the same time, and I grip his shoulders, using them to hold on to as I scooch my butt lower. My hands slide into his hair, tangling the raven strands around my fingers and pulling just a bit. He groans into my mouth, then pushes up onto his elbows, deepening the kiss, though he’s still not touching me.

I need him to. I need to feel his hands on me; need to lose myself in his touch, lose myself in him.

I grab his wrists and yank them upwards guiding his hands to my waist. He falls back flat against the ground looking up at me as his fingers clench in the cotton at my hips. His hair is mussed from my fingers, his pupils dilated, eyes heavy lidded, lips parted.

My heart is racing wildly in my chest, and I grab the front of his shirt and yank him back up, smashing our lips back together.

That’s when his control finally slips. His fingers relinquish the cotton of my dress and instead bite into my hips, yanking me downwards until I’m lying stretched out flat on top of him at the same time as he pushes upwards until out bodies are crushed firmly together.

I can feel him through the thin strip of my underwear, my dress riding up high. His eyes glow as he does it again, grinding his hips to mine. With only two thin layers of fabric between us I can feel every detail of him against my sensitive flesh, and I whimper at how good it feels. He keeps right on going, rubbing between my legs until I’m fighting to keep my eyes open, my breaths tumbling out of my mouth in short, shallow gasps.

I want him.

Ferociously!

Loki stills, ignoring my little sound of protest, as his hands slide down from my waist over my hips, my butt, my upper thighs. His touch is warm, so warm, but it makes me shiver as it slides over the bare skin of my thighs and slowly back up, traversing under the fabric of my skirt. His agile fingers massage my skin as he goes higher and draws them forward to my inner thighs. I’m writhing under his touch, making desperate little mewling noises, wanting him closer, there, right there where I ache for him. His thumbs barely graze the edges of my underwear and my legs fall open, bracketing his thighs as I allow him access to all of me, inviting him in, whining pleadingly.

“Hush, love. I’ve got you.” He hums softly and then the pad of his thumb just lightly glides over the spot that’s throbbing desperately for him. I squeak. Loki’s eyes find mine, searching for any sign of fear or discomfort, but I know he’ll find none. I’m proven right when he does it again, dragging his finger torturously slowly over that painful ache. My forehead drops down onto his chest, my hair cascading forward, spilling over his shoulders and biceps.

Still he’s languidly pulling his thumb over the thin fabric of my underwear, driving me mad, until I feel I might die from how good this feels.

I’m taut and trembling, my thighs squeezing his hips, when he speaks again in a softly dominant voice. “Look at me.”

I shake my head; I don’t think I can. I’m too lost in the feelings hes evoking, I don’t think I have that much control over my body right now.

“Look at me and I will give you more.” He says in a low, diabolical voice, knowing exactly that if there anything that will make me look up it will be that.

My head rises, my eyes meeting his. Their green is avid and hungry, but at the same time calm and sweet, and I know he’s in control. He’s totally focused on me with every fiber of his being, monitoring my feelings and emotions in case it gets too much, always ready to back off. It calms me in a way I didn’t even realize I needed to be calmed, and my hips undulate instinctively, pushing down against his wickedly talented fingers.

As soon as my eyes meet his, he shifts, slipping one finger beneath that last little layer of cloth, touching me where I’m wet, wanting, and waiting for him. He doesn’t draw it out, doesn’t chance me coming apart at the seams, and immediately starts rubbing in quick, tight, little circles that have my need for him arrowing straight for my core, coiling tightly like a spring and finally releasing.

I come in a dizzying rush, crying out softly, and gripping onto his shoulders.

He watches me, watches me come undone, watches as the pleasure he’s brought me washes over me, and catches me as I collapse against him. I’m gasping and gulping for air, and he gives me time to recover, turning his head and looking out the window at the real stars outside. He rises, pushing me up with him and propping his weight on one hand. The other hand stays wrapped around me stroking up and down my back.

When I’ve recovered some measure of control over my erratic breathing, I flop around in his embrace so that I’m sitting between his spread thighs, my back leaning against his chest. He encircles me with both arms and scoots us backwards until he can lean against the wall, freeing both his arms to hug me with.

We sit together, our breaths automatically syncing up, watching the stars; both the real and the fake.

His arms are around me and my own are crossed over my stomach, holding on to his opposite wrists. My thumbs softly rub over the underside of his forearm, stroking over the scars that I know are there, but which I can’t feel, or see in the dim light.

At first I can feel his breaths stuttering ever so slightly with each pass my thumb makes over the damaged skin, but as I keep going he relaxes. His lips press into my hair.

“I love you.” He whispers.

I still in his arms. I can feel the hard and fast pounding of his heart thrumming through him and into my body, and my own speeds up to match his.

He has read my thoughts again, or somehow we are now so much on the same wavelength that we have come to the same realization at almost the exact same time. Wasn’t I ready to tell him that I loved him just barely half an hour ago?!

His proclamation makes warmth bloom inside me, spreading outwards with a feeling of lightness until I feel like I may float right out this very window, like someone is pumping helium into my lungs.

What I’m unprepared for though is the sudden crush of pain.

It confuses me. I love him too. I love him. Of course I do. He’s everything to me. I want to be with him, and he fixes me, and I need him, and I can’t breathe right without him, and isn’t that what love is?

And I’m so fucked up that I can’t even tell him. I can never truly tell him, and that hurts. Hurts for me and hurts for him, because he deserves to hear it, to _hear_ it, from me. But I can’t…

“Annie?”

I swallow hard then turn in his embrace. One of my hands comes up to cup his cheek and I try to tell him with my eyes _I love you too_. I could write it but in this moment it feels cheap and insincere to do so.

I know he understands because he smiles. And suddenly I can’t stop myself; I surge upwards, rising onto my knees until I’m taller than him in his reclined position against the wall. I take his head between my palms, tilt his face up and kiss him. I kiss him and he lets himself be kissed, surrendering all control to me. Slow tears drip down my face; happy tears, sad tears, angry tears; angry at myself because I’m too broken to even utter those three little words. Even for him.

Loki pushes me back gently then kisses up each of my tears, every single time punctuating the sweet little gesture by murmuring the affirmation of his feelings into my skin.

After awhile I lay sideways against his chest again, balancing my notebook against his thigh to write. _I’m so sorry._

“For _what?”_

_That I can’t TELL you…_

He sighs. “Oh, darling. You tell me in so many ways. The way you smile at me, the way you are looking at me right now, how you touch me, the fact that you are here with me despite everything. Even the fact that you feel the urge to needlessly apologize to me for this; it tells me your feelings more concisely than mere words ever could.”

I look up at him. He smiles down at me.

_Are you sure?_

“I have never been surer of anything!”

 _I love you._ I write now, even though it still feels phony to just write it.

“I know.” He grins then takes the paper bearing my declaration from my notebook and folds it carefully to keep it safe.

His gaze falls onto the window behind my head. “Annie. Look!” He doesn’t wait for me to turn though but grasps my shoulders and spins me around to face the window.

I gasp as I see a glowing trail of fire slowly arc it’s way across the night sky outside. A shooting star!

I watch in awe as it traverses the relatively small space we can see out the window, travelling almost comically slowly.

Loki holds me close, whispering in my ear. “Is it part of Midgardian custom to wish upon these?”

I nod.

He kisses my temple. “Then make a wish.”

I close my eyes tightly for a second, concentrating. Then I write directly on my palm: _You too!_

Loki hums softly behind me, his arms tightening, his deep voice vibrating directly into my heart. “My wish has already come true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked. Next chapter shall rise within the hour. Also hope the smuttiness was okay again writing wise because I am not practiced at it. Ooookay. Onwards with editing. Thank you for reading!  
> Also the Lucy in the sky with Diamonds thing is a thing I borrowed from my own childhood. Cant do it anymore cause even spinning around once makes me wanna puke. I'm ooooold!


	24. Bright Lights and Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the second half of the B-day party. A little bit less fun.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS for nightmares, panicked attack, anxiety, and flashbacks.  
> Also a bit shorter of a chapter. But you got two. Yay.

We go to sleep, tangled together on the bed. Loki changes back into his prison pants and gives me his shirt to wear. He tells me that apparently the clothes belong to Steve who lent them to him when Tony called in the reserves to help out with my little impromptu birthday party. He also tells me that the stars were controlled with a little remote that let him control their brightness. Apparently Tony developed them before as super tiny blinding lights meant to distract enemies in battle, but when Loki told him his idea Tony thought they would also double nicely as stars as long as Loki kept them very, very dim.

It was the best birthday I have ever had and I am happier than I have been in a long, long time. Maybe ever!

He'd turned around respectfully as I changed from my tight dress into his loose shirt, which is almost as long as the dress. Then he’d pulled me down beside him after switching off the stars, leaving us in darkness. With his steady heartbeat under my ear I’d drifted off easily and quickly.

When I wake up again his heartbeat is still sounding in my ear, but it’s changed. It’s fast and erratic, and alarmed sounding. I sit up, squinting down at him in the darkness. His hands are fisted in the sheet by his hips, and his head is tossing side to side. A thin sheen of sweat coats his chest and face.

I inch away, remembering his last nightmare and how volatilely he’d reacted. I want to shake him, to wake him, but I don’t want him attacking me again. I’m scared for myself, of how I’ll take it and how many more times I’ll be able to handle him lashing out at me without freaking out. I’m also scared for him; of his guilt that will eat him alive if he were to hurt me by accident. I don’t want him to feel that!

He gives a low moan, the agonized sound cutting right into me. I consider throwing something at him to wake him up but last time I did that he was across the room in milliseconds, choking me. There’s nowhere in here where I could hide or take cover if he comes out swinging, feeling attacked by whatever projectile I use to wake him

“No,” he moans. “No, no, no. Please. Please, no more. No more. _Please!”_ his panicked begging breaks my heart. I look around wildly for some inspiration on how to wake him. And the answer is so simple that it's pathetic.

I take a deep breath. And then another and another. Then I open my mouth, pulling air into my lungs like I’m drowning in this damn cell in the basement of the most sophisticated tech savvy building in the world, probably the universe. But I can’t do it. His name lodges in my throat, as tears spring to my eyes. Loki is lying feet from me, trapped and tormented by a horrible nightmare and I can’t even do this one little thing for him to wake him and end his torment. I am so fucking selfish!

My breathing is completely out of control now. I’m sucking air in like a fish out of water, trying to fight past the sheer terror tying my throat shut. Just trying to make. One. Single. Fucking. Sound!

Something glints at me from the corner of my eye. I’m doubled over, holding my stomach, but I fumble for it anyway knowing now what it is I need to do.

The remote for the stars is tiny, but the little slide button in the center that controls the brightness is big. I bend over pushing my face into the crook of my elbow and jamming my eyes shut for good measure, then I push the button up as far as it will go.

Whiteness explodes behind my closed lids, shining through whatever gaps are left in my arms. I hear Loki give a strangled shout of surprise, and as soon as I hear the noise that indicates he’s awake, I push the button back down. I leave it at a bit less than a third and raise my head from my arms. The room is lit, though a bit dimmer than its usual fluorescent lights. I blink against the brightness until it no longer hurts my eyes and I can see Loki sitting on the edge of the bed staring at me.

I can see the lingering spectres of the nightmare in his haunted look, in the paleness of his face, the shadows that cling to him, and the smudges under his eyes. He looks at me cautiously. “Annie?”

I rise to my feet and start towards him but I’m disoriented still from the shifting lights and stumble, crashing back down to my hands and knees. Uncaring I simply crawl the rest of the way to him. I don’t slow as I reach him, colliding with his solid body. I’m between his spread thighs, my arms wrapped around his hips, my face pressed sideways into his flat stomach, my chest hitching and jerking with my residual panic.

His arms come around me as he folds in half, enveloping me in his body. “Annie,” he breathes frantically, his hands roaming all over my back, arms, and the side of my face that isn’t smashed into his abs. “Annie, are you alright? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head repeatedly, holding on tighter. I’m not hurt, but I’m not alright either. I am ruined, and broken, and hollow, and I can’t even manage to do something as simple as call out to this man who has become everything to me, who is without question the most important thing in my life. I can’t handle something as easy as saying his name which, after all, is only two freaking syllables, not even to save him from his own mind. Not without asphyxiating myself. And I’m so selfish that even now, after he’s woken up from a tormenting nightmare, I’m still so broken that _he_ needs to check on _me_ instead of the other way around as it should be in this situation. How pathetic am I?!

His arms tightened in turn and then he holds me; just holds on to me as I hold on to him, kneeling between his legs, trying to help him eradicate the dregs of his nightmare and get a handle on my own mental breakdown.

“I’m so sorry!” he mumbles into my hair, and I shake my head, telling him that he has nothing to apologize for. When his shuddering stops I feel blindly along the floor for my notebook and pen. I only find the pen, but that’ll do.

I yank the cap off and write directly on my arm. _You’re okay. You’re safe. It wasn’t real. I’m here!_

He nods slowly, eyes still slightly glazed. “It wasn’t real.” he repeats quietly, and I wonder what he saw.

I don’t ask, instead I write _I’m sorry!_

 _“Whatever_ for, darling?”

_I tried to call out to you. I wanted to wake you by saying your name. I was scared to touch you because of what happened last time and I didn’t want you to have something like that on your conscience again. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get the words out. I should have. Instead I had to hurt you with the lights. I’m so sorry!_

He tilts my arm as he reads so he can see everything I’ve written down the meat of it. “Don’t. Don’t, my love. You do not need to apologize. I am glad you woke me in the way that you did. I would not be able to forgive myself if I attacked you thusly again.” He shivers violently at the memory. “And I told you before, darling, do not waste your beautiful voice on me. Save its return for something that truly matters.”

_Nothing matters more to me than you do!_

“Ah, love, you have no idea how much that means to me!” his voice is vulnerable and so are his eyes, and the expression hurts; hurts so deeply, stabbing into my heart, that I fall forward again into his embrace. He drags me easily back up into the bed, then wraps me in his arms, cradling me close as we both stay awake until morning in silence, just holding on to the other, each hankering after our own thoughts. I don’t know what he's thinking; can’t even wager a guess, but I’m thinking of him, of how much he means to me, how much I need him, how much I love him, and wondering with a powerful ache in my heavy heart, how much longer I’ll be allowed to keep him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback is still appreciated so if anyone wants to tell me anything that you like, dont like, something that works, doesn't work, anything you dont understand or that doesn't make sense, or anything at all please let me know. I try my best to take everything into account however I can. But even if you dont have time to comment that's okay. I'm just glad you're reading. Thank you so much. Love you more than apple pie!!!! ❤🧡💛💚💙💜


	25. Jedi Training?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a random chapter. This wasnt there in my first draft of this story, or even my second, but I added it in fairly recently because I wanted Annie to spend some time with other people and build up more friendships. I want her to learn to trust people again, and heal that way.  
> Also look at me talking about first and second drafts. Lol. I sound so organized. I'm not!!! I literally write whatever comes to mind and then I eventually have to spend several days sorting through the entire mess deciding which chapter goes where. But it works! For me at least. Anyhoo, enjoy.

The next day I make my way back down to the gym for the first time. I’m positively bubbly with leftover emotion from last night and I need to do something to sweat the slaphappy stupid out of me.

I wonder if Bucky will be there or if he’s long since given up on me because I haven’t been back in over a week now.

But when I get to the gym he’s there, running on the ancient treadmill. I stop in the doorway watching him. He’s running with an easy, loping stride, faster than I can comprehend anyone ever wanting to run voluntarily. He’s like a machine, an impression that his metal arm only underscores.

I knock loudly on the door and his eyes snap up. I take an instinctive step back at the dangerous glint in them. I’m not afraid; at least not beyond my normal measures. But the familiarity of what I see in the ocean blue of his irises sends me stumbling back with the force of its surprise. There’s shadows there, like in my own, like in Loki’s. Shadows brought on by his past, by things he did, things done to him. He’s broken too. Like me. Broken and fixed; like Loki…

His eyes soften as he sees me, and I understand that I startled him and that, like Loki, his instinctive reaction to getting startled is not to shrink away, but to rise to the offence.

He braces both hands on the sides of the treadmill and then hops down, one foot landing to either side of the still whirring track.

He gestures to the machine. “The stop button doesn’t work anymore. You have to physically unplug the old thing from the wall.” He explains his strange maneuver, committing the action as he talks about it. The treadmill sputters and dies.

“Long time no see, doll. How are you?”

I nod and shrug, then point to him. Mutism does not inhibit my politeness.

He grins. “I’m good. Thanks for asking. So, are you ready to continue learning how to kick butt?”

I nod, then hold up the filled water bottle I’d brought, emblazoned with the Avengers **A** logo.

Bucky chuckles. “Good. Alright, step up and show me what you remember. Have you been practicing?”

I nod as I step up to the punching bag. I have been practicing. Not a lot, and not _on_ anything, but I did review the strikes a few times in my room.

Bucky has me reworking everything thoroughly, offering tips and praise here and there. The few corrections he has to give to my form, he gives from afar, always keeping at least five feet of space between us.

After half an hour of review I am red faced and panting, so Bucky calls for a break. I drop down on my butt right where I’m standing, fumbling for my water bottle. While I’m chugging, Bucky retrieves his and sits down, leaning his back against the side of the free weights rack, taking small sips of his own water.

After a while I start to watch him shyly. He’s already studying me, but not in a creepy way. It doesn’t make my skin crawl.

“Can I ask you something?” he pipes up suddenly.

I blink surprised, then nod cautiously, wondering what he wants to know.

“Why do you want to learn this stuff?”

I frown slightly wondering whether to answer. I can sense that he’s not asking condescendingly, or because he thinks that I can’t learn it anyhow, but genuinely wants to know. I dig my notepad out of my back pocket and write. _I keep getting attacked._

I slide the pad over to him and he reads. When he looks up his eyes are dark, his face grim. “By who?” He slides it back.

I shrug. _People. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I know how to defend myself ~~when~~ if they try again._

Bucky nods as he reads my words. “Do you know why they would want to attack you?”

_Because I’ve been hanging out with persona non grata._

He nods sagely. “Loki.”

I look at him surprised. Why I should be surprised though, I don’t know. It’s been the talk of the Compound; why _shouldn’t_ he know?!

He tilts his head to one side, considering me. “People are judging you for it based on his past?”

I nod.

He sighs. “I know what that’s like. How it feels to be ostracized for things you did.”

I blink, staring at him. He’s right, I realize. He does! He’s in the exact same boat as Loki. He was tortured, forced to do terrible things, he wasn’t himself, he was basically branded Public Enemy Number One, and now he’s a good guy all of a sudden. People are bound to be suspicious, and not everyone’s gonna just believe that he’s suddenly on our side. No, I bet a fair share of them still think he’s a bad guy and treat him as such.

He’s watching me closely. “I’m rehabilitated, you know.” He says softly. “No trace of the brainwashing left. A dozen doctors and scientists have confirmed it, including Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. You don’t have to be afraid that I’ll hurt you. Though I understand why you are.”

I shake my head vehemently. _I’m not scared of YOU. I’m just… scared._

He frowns, a furrow appearing between his brows as he tries to make sense of my cryptic-ness.

I try to explain. _Look, I’m not scared of you, or of what you did, or could potentially do. I knew who you were obviously, but I didn’t really put it together. I don’t think you’re gonna hurt me because you were made into some master assassin. I’m just scared of everyone. And everything, really. It’s nothing personal._

He reads slowly, and when he looks up at me his face is sad. “But you know about my past?”

_Yea. But I also understand that that wasn’t you._

“But it was.”

 _Your body. Not your conscious self._ I can’t believe that I’m trying to convince another rehabilitated villain/victim of his own innocence. What am I? The rehabilitation therapist for the formerly brainwashed? But honestly I don’t mind at all because I know how the guilt chews at you and how hard it is convincing yourself that you weren’t at fault. I still think that what happened to me was somehow my fault, and I was just the bystander. I can imagine how much worse it is for Loki and Bucky too because even though they weren’t in control, they still physically did the terrible things. At least I know that that’s what it’s like for Loki.

“I remember everything…” Bucky says absently, not really even talking to me, I suspect.

_Still doesn’t make it your fault._

He glances down when my notepad slides up to him, colliding with his knee. “Doesn’t it?”

I shake my head. _The same thing happened to Loki. He was under someone’s control too. Would you say that what he did was his fault?_

“Of course not.”

_See?_

“It feels different though…”

_It wasn’t. Not really. I mean, I don’t know details about what you’ve been through and what you were forced to do but I do know them about Loki. And from what I know about you it sounds similar. You were taken. You were tortured. You were forced to submit and had your free will taken away from you. Then you “woke up". The only difference is that you were brainwashed by science, Loki by magic. But the end result was the same._

Bucky takes his time reading my words. “It still feels different. It sounds like Loki was completely controlled. I was made to act as if on my own free will. I knew what I was doing, what I was going to do, and I didn’t stop.”

_But didn’t they like take away your conscience or something. So you’d be completely unfeeling and basically just a machine made to follow orders?_

He nods slowly.

_Then there you go. They made you into the human equivalent of a robot. Robots do as they’re programmed. They have no choice. You didn’t have a choice._

He looks at me and I can see he’s thinking about it. “It felt like I did…”

_They probably programmed that too so that if you ever broke out of their control that you’d be eaten alive by your guilt and you’d blame yourself instead of them. Don’t give the fuckers that satisfaction! Haven’t they taken enough from you?!_

As he reads I watch his jaw tighten and his shoulders straighten. When he looks up at me there’s something blazing in his eyes, and I can tell that I’ve gotten through to him at least a bit. He smiles at me. “You’re real smart, doll. Thanks!”

I smile back. _No problem. Now: I’m hydrated. Wanna keep teaching me how to kick butt, Sensei?!_

He laughs. “Let’s go, my young Padawan. Steve has been watching those movies with me. They’re awesome. Have you seen them?”

I grin widely at the fact that this strapping 100 year old dude would turn out to be a Star Wars fan. And apparently Steve too. Makes wonder if Loki would enjoy it? Or if the outer space aspect would be too weird for him, or he'd complain about it not being accurate. I mean he's actually been _out there._ He'd probably find several faults with humanity's portrayal of deep space, even if it came from George Lucas' brilliant vision...

Bucky keeps me going for another half hour, overextending my lunch break. I don’t even notice because I’m so focused on the strikes he’s teaching me. He shows me how to use my knees and feet to strike an attacker’s various vulnerable areas. He stands closer now, because I’m more comfortable with him and because he understands now that my fear is not fear of him, the ex assassin, but more just a general nervousness. He touches me too now, to correct my stances and form, and I let him, though he makes sure to ask permission every time. It’s still not entirely comfortable, not like when Loki touches me, but I can bear it because his hands are not malicious, and he only wants to help.

When we finish I even initiate a high five, which appears to confuse him. Where high fives not a thing in the 30’s? Apparently not. I lightly pick up his wrist with two fingers and guide his palm to mine, slapping it lightly. His eyes light up in understanding.

_Thanks for the lesson!_

“Anytime, doll. Take care of yourself. And if anyone gives you trouble you tell me. I used to be a sniper in the war. I’ll take ‘em out discreetly for ya.”

I huff a laugh then hurry down the corridor, mentally concocting plans to stay at work twenty minutes later today, to make up for the time I missed, even though it was well spent!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was some more Bucky. I'm kinda liking this dynamic though sometimes I feel the two sound a bit too familiar. This will not turn into a OC/Bucky/Loki triangle! Though that sounds like a fun idea too... different story. Maybe. I kinda envision Bucky as being very protective big brother type of figure to Annie which will be interesting to explore since as we know Annie already has a big brother and we know how that worked out... So it'll be interesting to see her work to trust Bucky to that extent... but I think if anyone can accomplish gaining that type of trust from her it would be him... But enough of my Bucky musing. (I just love him, can you tell?!) I hope you're still liking it. Several action things are coming up very soon in like two or three chapters I think. Let me know what's on your minds if you want and/or have time. Otherwise thank you so much for reading!!!


	26. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS for flashbacks, mentions and memories of rape/incest, someone getting away with a crime, panic attacks, parents not believing, and traumatizing courtroom proceedings.  
> Maybe those aren't conventional triggers but I find they can trigger me when I dont expect them... And I just want everyone to be very forewarned in any case. Just stay safe!!! And enjoy. I hope this chapter indicates that some healing is happening...

It’s Sunday. Otherwise known as ice cream day down in the cell block. They sell little single serve containers of ice cream in the cafeteria all week but on Sundays Loki gets one delivered down as dessert with his dinner. Since they’ve moved him to the isolation cell they’ve been sending two every week. One for him and one for me.

Today the flavour is vanilla. And not just bland, generic vanilla. No, good vanilla; like, _really good_ vanilla. My favourite. I suspect Loki’s hand in this.

We sit opposite each other on his bed, eating our ice cream. As always we’re alternating bites, because even though I can freely eat more now, this still helps me eat enough to satisfy Loki. I’m feeling strangely giddy, partly with happiness because as soon as I’d come in, Loki had pulled me into his arms, kissed me sweetly and told me he loved me, as he’s done every day now since my birthday each time I come and go. The other part is my jittery nerves. I’ve made quite a big decision which I will inform Loki of after dinner. And with every spoonful of ice cream I consume, that moment draws closer and closer, and my nerves amplify.

It’s this flustered, erratic bounciness that has me acting a bit more forward than I normally would, so when I notice Loki watching me with a smile, I withdraw the spoon from my mouth and slowly lick my lips, looking down coyly.

When I look back up he’s no longer smiling. His eyes are intense, burning into mine like the green flames produced when you hold a copper penny into a Bunsen burner. He shovels a bite into his mouth then nods to me.

My turn. I suppress a grin at how eager he is. Carefully I scrape some more of the frozen cream from my half empty bowl, taking my time as I place it in my mouth, flipping the spoon around and sucking on the end, licking off the cold treat in long, slow drags.

When I swallow, Loki huffs a surprised laugh. His shoulders hunch slightly as he lowers his head, glancing up at me from beneath his brow, eyes hot and heavy. He doesn’t even bother to take another bite. “Do that again.” He orders in a low, husky voice.

My stomach already hurts a little bit but I keep eating. I’d already eaten more than I usually do during the main meal, but it was Spaghetti Bolognese, which was once my favourite dish. I hadn’t planned to eat all of my dessert but I am thoroughly enjoying this game; revelling in the way Loki’s eyes stay glued to my lips, following the languid movements of my mouth and tongue. It makes me feel wickedly incredible and desired, the way I am able to capture and hold this powerful god/prince’s attention with just a little metal teaspoon, my lips, and my wits. Every once in a while he blinks, and his lips twitch up in a little secret smile as he shifts around on the bed, his ice cream slowly melting in its bowl.

When I’m finished he just stares at me for a few more seconds then shakes his head. “Norns, that was concupiscent.” He laughs lightly. “Give me a moment.”

I sit back, flushed with feminine pride and triumph, amazed that I could really have such a profound effect on him. He looks down into his bowl then shrugs and simply drinks the melted ice cream soup.

I smile as I watch him, though my nerves start to flutter anew as I realize that dinner is now officially over.

Loki looks back up at me.

I take a deep breath as I place my spoon in the bowl and then my bowl on the floor. _I’d like to do something._ I write slowly.

Loki’s eyes flash heatedly. “As would I!” he says, eyes raking me hungrily.

I can tell he’s teasing me. Not that he’d refuse if I responded in kind. I laugh. His smile brightens in response.

I sober again as I continue to write. _I’d like to tell you some things. About me._

His eyes widen slightly for the briefest second as he reads that. Then he holds out a hand to me, spanning the space between us, and I slip mine into it. He squeezes gently. “Only if you feel you are ready. I do not want to pressure you.”

I do feel pressured, but not by him. By myself. And anyway: _Not everything. Just some things…_

“Whatever you wish to tell me. I am all ears. Or… eyes.” He winks, though his grip on my fingers tightens.

He’s teasing me again, and it wrings a tiny, shaky giggle out of me. _Can I use my laptop to write though? I type faster than I write._

“Darling, you needn’t ask my permission. Whatever you require to ease this for you is alright with me.”

I nod, then shove my notebook to the floor and bend over to retrieve my laptop instead. When I sit up Loki has shifted the lean his back against the wall and he pulls me close to his side, wrapping an arm around me. I open up my laptop and pull up a blank page in Word. Then I just sit for several long minutes, my fingers poised over the keyboard, watching the cursor blink.

Loki doesn’t rush me, doesn’t get impatient or antsy. He just sits beside me, a solid unwavering presence, with one arm around my shoulders, his fingers playing with my hair, twirling a strand of it around and around his finger.

Finally I start to type. _My brother, Jacob, did a horrible, horrible thing and I saw him do it._ I feel Loki stiffen slightly at my side and, even though I can’t know for sure, I suspect that he is aware of exactly what this horrible, horrible thing that Jacob did was. But he doesn’t force me to write it and I don’t because it’s not the part I’m willing to tell him right now. Not today. Not yet. I’m not ready!

 _He was arrested when I pointed the finger at him. Both my parents were devastated. Jacob was always a good kid. Straight A student. Lots of friends. Good athlete. Caring big brother. The kind of guy who’d help old ladies cross the street, or who’d park his bike on his way home from school to help you carry your grocery haul into the house. We were really close. Best friends. I loved him more than anything!_ I pause. Inanely I wonder if my 150 WPM typing speed is fast enough for Loki’s insanely fast reading speed. What’s his WPM speed for reading? Suddenly I want to know. But I'm stalling...

_The news hit my parents hard. They didn’t want to believe it. Jacob had never done anything bad in his life. He’d never drank or been into drugs, never shoplifted or even gotten a speeding ticket. The guy wouldn’t even let anyone squash flies and spiders and bugs that got into the house, insisting that we all had to catch them, and release them alive._

I’m typing random nonsense now, all true, but still useless facts, because I want to put off, avoid, the terrible, shitty truth that comes next. Loki’s arm around me tightens and he leans his head sideways, resting his cheek atop the crown of my head.

_Jacob denied everything!_

Loki’s muscles clench beneath me, and his fingers tighten slightly around my upper arm.

_He said I was confused. That I hit my head earlier that night and might have gotten a mild concussion. I HAD hit my head earlier and I had the lump to prove it._

I stall again, remembering how Jacob had teasingly body checked me, like he’d done a million times before all throughout our childhood, but how this time I’d flown face first into that lamppost, cracking the side of my head against it, which had raised a sizable bump beneath my hair. I remember how he’d apologized and been so worried. I remember laughing it off and shoving him jokingly. Then the police had looked for the bump at my brother’s urging. And they’d found it. I’d wondered after that if Jacob had done it on purpose, hoping that I would hit my head so he’d have an out. If his assault had really been that premeditated. And if it had, what I had done to bring it on?

_Them finding the bump caused reasonable doubt, and along with any other lack of evidence that pointed the blame on him, except my for word, Jacob was released on bail. He went back to his apartment and I went home with my parents. They knew that something had happened; that couldn’t be denied. There was other evidence, just nothing on Jacob._

I close my eyes thinking of this evidence. It was obvious, really, by the bruises around my wrists and ankles, and around my throat; the one on my cheek where he’d slapped me, and that which the friendly SANE nurse had unearthed at the hospital where I’d awoken after I’d passed out when Melissa found me.

_I’d seen people with Jacob that night but I had no idea who they were. They were obviously his friends but none that I’d ever seen before. They were drunk. And high. Jacob wasn’t, not that night. After I’d accused him, he started drinking and doing drugs, but I don’t know if he’d done that stuff before. He’d moved out a year and a half before so he could have been. I don’t know. But he blamed my, as he said, unfounded accusations for his downward spiral._

Loki’s lips are in my hair, his arm tight around me, holding me close. Giving me strength. I don’t stop my frantic typing speed, all of a sudden needing to purge these words. _My parents were heartbroken. My mom believed me. She didn’t want to, but she did. She cut Jacob off completely. Said he was no longer her son. My dad kept trying to talk me out of what I’d said, kept trying to get me to reconsider, to think harder, to remember if it had REALLY been Jacob I’d seen that night and couldn’t it have been someone else?! He kept begging me to think about it again. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe me, per se, more that he doubted me… I don’t think it was malicious, not really, he just didn’t want to believe that his son could do something like that. And he didn’t want to have to choose between his children. But he kind of did anyway. He chose Jacob. And I felt betrayed. I stopped talking to him._

And I had. I hadn’t been speaking since the attack but I’d been communicating, as I do now, through writing. I’d stopped writing to my dad though. After he’d stopped looking at me, turning away with a pained look on his face every time he tried. I still wasn’t sure if it was because of what had happened to me and he pictured that in his mind whenever he saw me, whether I reminded him too much of Jacob; he'd always said that we were like two peas in a pod, or because he was disgusted with me for “lying" and refusing to admit it.

 _There was a trial. Jacob got off._ It’s all I type about the six month ordeal in which I had to watch an endless parade of people, including my father; albeit reluctantly, take the stand and extol my brothers many virtues in vivid detail. The whole shit show was capped with me being forced to take the stand and asked a series of ever increasingly aggressive _yes_ or _no_ questions (a stipulation form the judge to accommodate my disability. I’d written a statement before for the police, which the defense had somehow gotten their grubby hands on.) In the end I’d dissolved into a crying, sobbing mess right there on the stand, curling up in the hard, rigidly straight-backed, wooden chair, unable to answer any more questions as the courtroom spun and flashed around me. I couldn’t even hear the questions the defence attorney that my father had paid for shouted at me over Loki’s screams in my head. My breakdown had been enough to convince the jury of 11 men and one single woman of my guilt, since they took it not as a panic attack induced by fear and flashbacks under ruthless questioning, but as me breaking down under strain and pressure from Jacob’s lawyer to admit to my “lies". And Jacob had walked.

I write that. _He walked. But as he left the courthouse a free man, when the camera flashes were going off all around us, while I was sobbing in my mothers arms and she was glaring bloody murder at him, and my dad wandered somewhere lost and confused in the middle, he decided to tell me that as far as he was concerned he no longer had a sister! Like my mother had written him off as her son, he now did the same to me as his sister. Then he left. I never saw him again. And not even a week later my parents carted me off to a mental institution. I’d had a panic attack of epic proportions in the courtroom and, even though I calmed down somewhat, it never really stopped. I was a mess. Think what you’ve seen of me so far and multiply that by a hundred._

Loki’s lips are in my hair as he plants fast little kisses against my temple over and over and over again. His hand rubs up and down my arm, and I know he’s imagining it and it’s tearing him apart to picture me that way.

_The hospital helped about as much as all the shrinks my mom dragged me to during the lead up to the trial. Namely not at all. That probably wasn’t their fault because I didn’t let them help me. I wanted them to. But I didn’t know how to let them, and so I refused to. And they were hindered by my refusal to talk. I signed myself out of that place as soon as I was 18 and legally allowed to. I went back home but nothing had changed there. My mother was still being eaten alive by her guilt and my father was oblivious. I left. Moved to New York. My parents paid for me to have a tiny little cockroach infested apartment there, and that’s where I lived before I got the job here._

I hear Loki swallowing heavily before he speaks in a voice rough and scratchy with emotion. “And your brother? Where is he?”

_Dead. He died of a heroin overdose about eight months after I moved away. It was the final nail in the coffin of my relationship with my dad. Before then he’d text me sometimes too, or talk on the phone with my mom whenever she called. He hasn’t since then. He blames me, I think, because if I hadn’t said what I did, then Jacob wouldn’t have started doing drugs, which I’m actually not so sure of, because I kinda think he was doing all that before already. But my dad doesn’t believe it._

Loki’s fingers are digging into my upper arm and I can feel him vibrating with impotent rage. I realize that he knows what this feels like; knows how it hurts to be betrayed by your family and to have a parent choose a sibling over you.

 _He still loves me, I think. He just doesn’t know what to do with me now, and he always loved Jacob more._ And that’s the suck ass truth of it.

I close my laptop with a decisive snap, indicating that I have exhausted this topic. Loki takes it off my lap and lays it aside, then pulls me into his arms, enveloping me. He presses his face into the crook of my neck and says, “You are so incredibly brave. So amazing. You do not need your father to be strong. You do not need anyone!”

Wrong. I need him!

“Thank you for telling me.” He whispers, kissing my forehead with fierce love.

I pick up my pen and write directly on his forearm: _Thank you for listening. Or… reading!_

He covers the words with his opposite hand, treasuring them. His eyes are sad and wet as he smiles at me. “Anytime!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So totally random and unsolicited Loki writing advice from me because for some reason this stood out to me in the chapter: whenever I write Loki I always use a thesaurus. Whenever I find a word that seems to simple for Mr. High and Mighty Asgardian Prince/Medieval God I'll use it to find a more sophisticated word. Like in this chapter I at first had him using the word "hot" to describe the ice cream thing. Didnt sound like a word Loki would use in that situation so I changed it to "concupiscent". Sounds more Loki-ish, dont you think? Also as a general rule I very rarely have him saying words like "don't" "can't " or "I'll", lengthening it to "do not" "can not" and "I will". Just sounds more regal. And I often have hin saying "I shall" instead of "I will" for the same reason. I dunno, it may seem pretentious and BS but somehow for me it works and I find my Loki more Loki-like when I do this. Though in Ragnarok he sounds a lot less regal and formal, which is also a nice change. But anyhoo, that was my How I Write Loki tips that absolutely no one asked for. Yay. Hope you liked the new chapter anyways.


	27. Rooftop Heart-to-Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: for graphic rape description, flashbacks, assault, and bullying. Also name calling.  
> Other than that we get some more Black widow. Woo.  
> This chapter hasn't been edited and read over by me a hundred times since I wrote it later than the rest so if there's spelling and grammar mistakes, forgive me. I do my best.  
> Enjoy.

Miraculously my good mood continues to last through the next few days as well. I have minimal nightmares and as a result have way more energy during the day. My act of confiding in Loki seems to have lifted a weight off my shoulders that I didn’t really even know was there. It gives me pause and places me at a bit of a dilemma. On the one hand I know that this ‘talking about stuff’ thing is definitely a way of healing; I’d spent enough time with various counselors and therapists to know that. And if there was any doubt remaining in my mind, it’s been thoroughly eradicated by said weight off my shoulders. So now I am actually actively considering telling Loki everything. The rest. All of it! The thought has flashed into my mind more than once now. Each time though I quickly tamp down on it, stomping it out, squishing it flat. It’s too dark, too horrible. Too humiliating. I can’t… How could I tell him that?

How would I even put it into words? Because there are no words… How can I tell him what the worst moment of my life felt like? There are no words or phrases to accurately describe the horror, the trauma of it. They haven’t been invented yet. Situations that should never be allowed to happen can’t be explained in ways that people who’ve never experienced them can understand, because they surpass human comprehension. Or… alien... Whatever.

How could I describe the pain? Loki is no stranger to pain, I know that. But this pain is different, more intimate somehow, and the fact that it is makes it so much worse, at least in my mind, especially because the perpetrator was someone I trusted; someone I loved.

How can I explain to him how I eventually just checked out completely. How do I articulate that my body was physically there, fully immersed in the terror of the moment, but my mind was far, far away, floating in the butterfly fields, flapping in time with John Lennon’s voice.

How do I explain the screams to him? His screams? That I've been hearing him inside my head ever since then. Since before I ever met him or even knew he existed. How do I explain that to him when I can't even explain it to myself? He’ll think I’m nuts!

And how do I talk about the aftermath? How do I explain how it felt to wake up in that field behind the travelling fair, the Ferris Wheel spinning surreally above me? How do I explain that feeling of knowing exactly what had happened, but at the same time not knowing at all? How do I explain the black hole that somehow opened up in my mind, the time I'd lost, where no visual memories existed. It started right around the time that the first of Jacob's friends got on top of me. My memories after that consists of grunts, laughter, pain, nausea, fear, dirt, and shame. But nothing visual. The first thing I remember seeing after is Melissa's horrified face. And behind her that damn Ferris Wheel...

How can I accurately outline the guilt and the questions and the what-ifs that set in immediately? Was this my fault? Did I let this happen? Why did I let this happen? Should I have fought more? _Could_ I have fought more. What if I hadn’t obeyed them? What if I’d screamed? What if I’d stayed home that night? What if I’d never followed his text telling me to meet him here because he’d found something cool? Could I have stopped this?

Is it my fault because I didn’t fight more?

And then the realizations born out of desperation and an inability to comprehend what had happened: I could have stopped this! I could have fought more. This is my fault!

And how do I tell something like this to the man I love? How do I tell him that? I don’t want those pictures in his head. Me, naked on the ground, surrounded by other naked dudes, with a stranger’s dick inside of me. It’s humiliating; embarrassing. I’d be too ashamed to ever look him in the face again. And how could _he_ ever stomach looking _me_ in the face again once he’d imagined that. From that moment on he’d see it in his mind’s eye every time he touched me, kissed me, took my clothes off, if I was ever brave enough to let him go that far, made love to me…

How could I possibly share that with him? My imagination paints pictures of him turning from me in disgust, and even though I know he wouldn’t, I also couldn’t stand his pity. How could I do that to him? How could he understand? Because I still don’t even understand. It’s incomprehensible!

I’m so lost in my desolate musings as I traipse down the hallway that I don’t even notice the shadow that looms behind me until its owner has grabbed my upper arm and swung me around with so much force that my left shoulder slams into the wall.

I jump backwards, my heart kicking into overdrive as I see who it is that’s grabbed me. Agent Brenner. Joy!

My hand immediately flies into my pocket, closing around the pager that, as per Tony’s instructions, I still carry with me wherever I go. I don’t press the button, but I am a literal hairsbreadth away from it.

Agent Brenner steps back though, glowering at me. “Where the hell do you get off, you mute bitch, getting my girlfriend fired? Jealous?!”

What. The. Fuck is wrong with these people? Do they feed them stupid sauce for breakfast? Are lower level agents allowed to smoke pot in their offices? What???

I retract my hand from my pocket pulling out my pen instead. I write right on the outside of one of the files I’m carrying. _Are you insane?_

“Me? You’re the insane one. You wanted Veronica gone. Or was it your Psycho pimp who planted the idea in your brain?”

My teeth grind. I’m debating stabbing him in the eye with this pencil but I doubt I’d be fast enough. _Just leave me the hell alone! What I do is none of your business. Neither is Loki!_

“None of my business? That freak killed my parents!”

I go cold. Killed his parents? They must have been casualties during the attack on New York. No wonder this is personal to him.

“They were in one of the apartment buildings that he and his army destroyed during the battle. They died. Because of _him!”_

I force myself to breathe slowly as I write. _I’m really sorry about your parents! But Loki was forced to do the things he did in New York. He was mind controlled._

“Oh, of course you’re the one pedaling that crap. Mr. Stark and Director Fury have been going on and on about it too. I should have known it came from you first!”

My anger flares up anew. _I understand that you’re upset about your parents and you have every right to be. But I suggest you get your head out of your ass and use the resources available to you. Dig through some of the encrypted SHIELD files and maybe you’ll learn something useful for once. You do know how to read, don’t you, jackass?_

“You’d better watch how you talk to me, you little skank.” He snarls, taking a step forward and reaching for me.

My hand swings up automatically, blocking him, shoving his reaching arm aside. Bucky taught me that yesterday. I drop my pen and shove my hand back into the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie. This time I don’t hesitate, and press the button, holding it for a full three seconds. Let’s give this thing a test run, shall we, Agent Douchebag?!

His face grows puce. Apparently he didn’t like the fact that weak and meek little me actually just fought back. Tough!

He reaches for me again and this time I don’t go for the passive defence. This time I go straight on the offence. I step into him, once more evading his grasping hand, and drive my knee straight up into his balls.

He folds in half at the hips with a high pitched, drawn out squeak, as I jump backwards out of his reach. I’m about to turn tail and run when, over Agent Brenner’s doubled up form, I see her approaching briskly, and so I stand my ground.

Dylan straightens up, his face now white as cheese and shiny with perspiration. “You stupid, retarded, little bitch. You’re gonna get it now!”

Just as he starts towards me again, Natasha clamps a shiny red manicured hand down on his shoulder. He squeals like a stuck pig and spins around.

“What’s she gonna get, Agent? A raise? ‘Cause I think that might be in the cards. At the very least compensation or a nice bonus for continually having to deal with your dumb butt.”

Natasha smiles at him, but there is nothing kind about this smile. It is sexy, and feral, and dangerous, and it makes me want to pee my pants. And it’s not even directed at me!

It appears that Agent Brenner is in the same boat as me; pants peeing wise. He stutters and stammers around as he tries to look away from her. But she won’t let him, ducking and dodging her head, always maintaining that terrifying eye contact. Finally Dylan gives up and looks back at her, blinking rapidly, and shrinking in size by the second.

“What is it with you? Do you like desk duty or something?” Black Widow asks pleasantly, though her face is still anything but. “This is your second time in six months, right? Both times pertaining to this girl. If you want to be a secretary because it’s less dangerous than field work all you have to do is talk to Fury.”

“I… I didn’t… She… she attacked me!”

“Sure. Because I’m certain your reasons for approaching her today were perfectly honorable. Just like the last times. She dropped something, right? And you meant to return it like the good Samaritan you are? Or maybe you wanted to ask her for the time?”

The mocking in Black Widow’s voice makes me cringe. I can’t imagine so much vitriol and sarcasm being directed at me. I almost feel sorry for Agent Brenner. Almost!

He’s stuttering around again. Natasha rolls her eyes then looks over my shoulder. “Ah, Agent Coulson. Just what the doctor ordered. Impeccable timing as always.”

“Agent Romanoff. Ms. Ellis.” The man who approaches greets us politely. He’s a compact man, middle aged, not especially tall, his hair receding at almost visible speeds, but he gives off such a strange aura of calm collectedness; of absolute capability, that it automatically calms something raw inside of me. I still step out of his way, and he too gives me a wide berth, nodding at me once more as he passes. He halts in front of Agent Brenner, and plants his hands on his hips, pushing back his jacket slightly.

Agent Brenner blows himself up like a bullfrog. “Thank god you’re here, Phil. These two are harassing me!” Dylan accuses in a shrill voice.

“That’s ‘Agent Coulson' to you, Brenner.” The man says in a calm voice. “And harassing you in what way? By chasing you down a deserted hallway and bodily throwing you into a wall? By defending themselves when you repeatedly tried to grab them? By kicking you in the nards?”

Dylan deflates.

“There are security cameras all over this Compound, Agent Brenner, which I just luckily happened to be watching ten minutes ago. Now they may have been mysteriously disabled in one certain hallway the day your girlfriend and her gang attacked Ms. Ellis here, but clearly you weren’t smart enough to think that far ahead, were you?”

“C’mon, sir, please. I just…”

“No. No excuses, Agent Brenner. You’re going to accompany me to Director Fury's office right now and you’re going to count yourself lucky if you get off with only a suspension again. And if you ever harass, accost, or otherwise bother this woman again, I will make it my personal mission to see you thrown out on your ear, do I make myself clear?”

“Yessir.” Dylan mutters.

“Agent Romanoff, thank you for your service. Ms. Ellis, should this buffoon give you any more troubles feel more than free to contact me directly. I’m his S.O.” Agent Coulson reaches out his hand. I shake it, feeling a little awkward since he’s leaving more than the conventional handshake space between us, so as not to crowd me.

I try to convey my gratitude with my eyes.

Agent Coulson nods. Then he turns and strides down the hallway, Dylan following after him like a beaten puppy, with his tail tucked between his legs.

I turn to Natasha. _Thank you!_

“You actually looked like you had that well in hand when I got here.”

_Well, it probably would have gotten out of hand quite quickly if you hadn’t gotten here when you did._

“Looks like Tony’s tech works though, huh?” she winks at me conspiratorially.

I grin. _Looks like it._

“You alright?”

I nod. _Surprisingly, yes._ And I am. I realise belatedly that not once during that whole interaction did I hear Loki's screams in my head. And I didn't have the urge to rip my palms apart at all. I was scared yes, but not terrified and inhibited by my fear like I usually am. I was just pissed.

Huh..!

“Come take a break with me.” Natasha says drawing me out of my internal epiphany. It’s an invitation, not an order but I still hesitate. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m still at work.

She can tell. “Ah, come on, if Tony knew that you’d had to deal with that prick again he’d tell you to take a break too.”

I can’t argue with that logic, and so I fall into step beside her. We walk in silence until we reach a fire exit door. It is clearly marked with a sign that declares that an alarm will sound when the door is opened. Without breaking stride, Natasha pulls a folded up dollar bill out of her pocket then reaches up to tuck it into a spot at the top of the door. When she reaches for the handle my hand flies out to stop her. I don’t want to get in trouble. Halfway on it’s way to her elbow I change my mind about the wisdom of grabbing her, and pull it back.

She notices my sudden movement out of the corner of her eye apparently, because she looks back over her shoulder and winks. Then she throws open the door.

I hold my breath.

Nothing happens.

She laughs as she sees my questioning look. “Tuck a dollar bill into the right place on the alarm mechanism and it disables it.”

_Do they teach you that at Agent Academy?_

She grins, though there’s something dark and heavy deep in her hazel eyes. “Something like that.”

She pulls a roll of scotch tape out of her pocket next, and tapes it over the door’s latch. “That prevents it from locking,” she explains. “They teach that at Agent Academy too. Come on.” She waves me towards a ladder that seems to go up to the roof of the Compound.

I look up it unsure.

“It’s okay. Go up first; I’ll follow. I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

I cautiously approach the ladder and start to climb, clutching on to the rungs tightly. But it’s easier than I thought and I reach the top with ease. Natasha swings herself up behind me looking like a circus acrobat, only ten times as graceful.

I’m looking around with fascination. It’s like a little apartment up here, albeit a sparsely furnished one. There’s a little roof overhang and within that stands a couch, a small TV, and a fridge, which is covered in magnets and little sticky notes. A poster of Green Day hangs beside the TV. A bow and a quiver of arrows leans against the wall and a pair of killer stilettos lies abandoned in the corner.

Natasha saunters up beside me. “We call this the Nest.” She explains. “It’s Clint’s secret hideout. He prefers high up places.”

I smile a little as I look around. It’s kinda perfect up here. Cautiously I approach the roof’s edge. I sit down there, dangling my feet into the seven story abyss. Natasha sits down beside me. “Well, you’re more gutsy than I gave you credit for, sitting on the ledge like this.” She grins crookedly at me to show me she’s teasing me.

I smile back. I was never afraid of heights. I loved them, probably to the point of foolishness. Then I turn back to the view. In the very distance I can make out the hazy outline of Manhattan. A gentle breeze starts to blow, ruffling my hair. I shiver slightly in the low late-fall temperature.

“Cold?” Natasha asks.

I shake my head. It is kinda cold but it doesn’t bother me. I realize suddenly that it’s been forever since I actually was outside. It’s weird, I used to be such an outdoor person. I’m not talking about hiking, and bouldering, and jogging. That was never for me. But I’d always be outside whenever the weather permitted me. And even sometimes when it didn’t. I’d usually be reading, researching, studying, working under trees on campus, or in my backyard. I loved being out among nature. But ever since _it_ happened, it’s like I’ve lost that love, that desire to be outside. Like I’ve forgotten it. Like _they_ stole it from me! Like they stole so much else!

Natasha senses my sudden melancholy and gently bumps me with her shoulder. “You okay?”

I shrug.

She takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m not good at this. They didn’t teach feelings and heart to heart conversations at Agent Academy.” She grins wryly in response to my smile. “But I want you to know that I’m here for you, okay?! If you ever want to talk- or… write, about anything you can talk to me. You know, girl to girl.”

I look at her. She looks kind of uncomfortable but also fiercely determined and sincere. _Thank you. That really, really means a lot to me! And I may take you up on that!_ I write.

Her tense face relaxes into a smile. “How’s your training with Bucky going?”

_You know about that?_

“Sure. He trained me when I was a little girl. I recognized his style from that kick you delivered to the prick's batteries."

_Really?_

“No, he told me.” She laughs at the face I pull. “He says you’re doing a good job and that you’re a fast learner.”

I smile proudly. _Did he really train you?_

“He did. In the Red Room. When he was the Winter Soldier.”

_How was he? Like personality wise?_

Natasha looks out into the distance, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Intense.” She says. “Focused. Controlled.”

_So kind of how he is now?_

She nods slowly. “Yes. And no. He was like he is now but without any… humanity. He was like a machine. Absolutely no feeling. No emotions.”

_That’s how he described it too._

“He’s talked to you about it?”

I nod.

“Huh. He usually only talks to Steve, and even that happens rarely.”

Oh. I look away, considering this.

“Can I ask you how you got onto the subject?”

_We were talking about Loki and how he was innocent in what he did too. I don’t know, we just somehow started talking about it._

She looks at me. “You really believe that Loki is innocent?”

I look back at her. There is no judgement or doubt in her face. She really, genuinely wants to know my thoughts on the subject so she can use them to formulate and re-evaluate her own.

I nod firmly.

“I only really interacted with him once. He was charming, manipulative, and deadly. He seemed very much in charge of his actions. But then again so did Bucky.”

I nod along with her words. _He says the scepter let’s you keep all of your skills and personality, it just amplifies the bad parts and tinges the good parts bad too. And it takes your free will. You know what you’re doing but you can’t control yourself and your action. It’s like your brain is no longer driving your body._

“That’s how Clint described it too. I admit though, it never really occurred to me that Loki could have been influenced by the scepter too. He seemed way too lucid. But then again, in retrospect, so did Clint.”

_Do you believe me? Him?_

She nods carefully. “I do. My training tells me not to, but my gut says I should.”

I smile.

“It’s good that he has someone like you advocating for him.” Natasha nudges me again.

_I’m glad he trusts me to do it._

We lapse into silence after that until I can no longer control my shivering. Natasha accompanies me back downstairs, extending an open invitation for me to visit the Nest whenever I want to. I can’t help myself and hug her quickly, surprising both her and myself. I let go before she can reciprocate but when I pull back her eyes are warm, her face open. “Call me anytime. Even if you just want to have lunch. Okay?”

I nod. Then I turn to swipe my card. When I turn around again she’s gone. I look left and right. There’s no trace of her along either hallway even though there’s at least fifty feet between here and the nearest door on both sides. I grin and shake my head, wryly amused. I guess she really _can_ apparate!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is.  
> I just couldnt resist putting Coulson in there. I love him. He's a precious badass bean! I needed me some Son of Coul in this story!  
> Something BIG is coming next chapter. Like, really big. That's a hint, but I wont spoil it. All I'll say is that shit's about to go down and things are about to change.  
> Can you feel the suspense? MUAHAHAHAHAAA!  
> Ok, I'm done.  
> Thanks for reading.


	28. The Mad Titan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS: for panic, fear of dying/watching a loved one die, and torture. Kind of a different chapter, triger warning wise.  
> The title probably already told you what's coming but there it is.  
> Hope you enjoy this somewhat pivotal chapter.

  
It happens two days later. I’m lying half on top of Loki’s chest with my ear over his heart, one leg bent at an angle and hooked over his thigh, and one arm thrown over his torso to tangle with his fingers on the other side. We’re listening to Bruce Springsteen’s greatest hits and I’m looking sideways out the window when, without warning, the world explodes.

I don’t even register what I’m seeing and hearing, but Loki is in motion almost as soon as the calamity starts. He rolls, sending us crashing to the floor with him on top of me. His weight landing on me, driving me into the ground, forces all the air from my lungs. It becomes apparent to me seconds later what it is he’s doing, as the ceiling and the seven floors above his cell come raining down on us in a choking avalanche of rubble and debris. He’s covering me. Shielding me from harm with his body.

It goes on forever, the ear-splitting rumbling and crashing of the building collapsing on us, combined with the alarms that start shrieking. Inanely over all of this chaos I can still hear The Boss singing his heart out about being on fire, which is fitting ‘cause that’s what it feels like the world is right now. Finally everything stops shaking. I shove at Loki’s chest, needing space to expand my lungs. But the air is thick with dust, and I cough as I draw in oxygen.

Loki shifts above me and I get a clear glimpse up. The compound above our heads is gone! Clean blown away. I can see the sky. And there in the very center of it is something that stops my breath cold, freezing it in my chest, and squeezing my heart in an iron fist.

A huge floating circle with flashing lights spinning around it. A… floating Ferris Wheel? I’m wheezing in fear, shock, and terror, and it recalls Loki’s attention to me. He looks down at me and I can see the blank horror in his eyes. “You need to get out of here.” He whispers urgently.

He jumps to his feet, yanking me up to. I cling to him, needing him to silence the memories that have taken over my brain at the sight of the floating Ferris Wheel blinking in the sky. It eclipses everything; the confusion over what the fuck is happening, the shock of having the literal roof over my head blown away, the lingering terror of having a building just collapse on me. Everything is wiped away by the memories of the last Ferris Wheel I’d seen, and what I’d endured beneath it, staring up at its winking lights and spinning frame.

I clutch at Loki, even as he frantically untangles my fingers from his shirt. He shoves me towards the door which isn’t there anymore. Neither is the hallway. Or the cellblock. The entire wing has been obliterated. I turn back to him. Need to reach him. I can’t process anything. Just my need for him.

“No, Annie. You need to go. Leave. It’s me they want. Not you. Go!”

That rings through to me. Him. They want him. The ones riding that flying Ferris Wheel. They want him. Want to take him. Take him where? To hurt him? No! No, I won’t let them.

I turn back again, even as he shoves me hard, sending me falling backwards on my ass in the rubble. I stumble to my feet. Hold out my hand to him pleadingly. I’m not leaving without him.

He looks at me and his eyes are wide and so inundated with terror that it rips my heart in two. “Please,” he pleads, voice wrecked. “Please, Annie. Go.”

I shake my head. I can’t. I can’t leave him. I won’t. I gesture with my open hand insistently. Come with me.

He throws a look over his shoulder up at the floating donut/Ferris Wheel. Then back to me. He grabs my hand and starts toward me.

Too late. A green light engulfs us and lifts us bodily off the ground. I feel weightless. Our fingers tighten automatically, and I try to scream but can’t, too horrified by seeing the remains of the compound shrinking rapidly below me.

We get sucked with dizzying speed right into the belly of the Ferris Wheel of Doom. The inside is dark, the shadows appear to be breathing, shifting, alive. Then a monster detaches itself seemingly from the very wall. Its skin is greyish-green and bumpy looking. Eyes that look pitch black but still glow eerily twinkle from deep within their sockets. It's tall and lanky with fingers that look like stiff tentacles.

I gasp as I scramble to my feet having fallen when the green beam cut out and left me feeling like I suddenly weighed twelve tons. I clutch onto Loki who’s already on his feet. He forces me behind him as he faces the monster head on. “Ebony Maw.” He says his voice icy cold and hard. The hatred in it makes me shiver as I cower behind him.

“Loki.” The monster replies in a voice that sound startlingly human. I’d expected a rasp or a hiss. Suddenly two more monsters step out of the shadows, flanking the first. They look different, taller, wider, greyer, but are no less terrifying. They all appear to wear some kind of armor that looks like slabs of granite, and carry wickedly sharp swords at their side, that look somehow both like they are from the depths of the middle ages, but also weirdly futuristic.

“Let the girl go.” Loki says, his voice deceptively calm though I can feel his muscles bunched, hard as steel beneath my trembling hands.

What? No! I’m not leaving him! I grip tighter into the fabric of the shirt at his back.

“She has nothing to do with this. Thanos wants me.”

 _Thanos!_ I go cold all over. His torturer, the one who took him, the orchestrator behind the attack on New York. The Mad Titan. He's come for Loki! Fear like I’ve never felt before licks through me.

The monster laughs; a low and guttural sound. “Thanos wants what he lost. He does not want a simple human girl.” He speaks to the guards. “Kill her.”

“NO!” Loki roars, as he shoves me backwards away from the two that advance. I watch as he lunges for them, watch as he rips the sword from one of their hands and decapitates it before the other one can draw its own weapon. The sharp clang of metal meeting metal hurts my ears as the swords clash.

More monsters detach themselves from the shadows. Loki fights. He’s good. He’s an excellent fighter, even my inexperienced and terrified eyes can see that, but he is outnumbered and he’s fighting with a handicap. Me. He needs to keep his back to me, keep the wave of monsters away from me. Slowly he’s backed up further and further towards where I cower, unable to do anything but shake in terror, and pray.

He kills countless more, but for every monster he fells, five new ones grow seemingly out of the very ground. Finally he is overwhelmed by sheer force of numbers. They wrest the sword from him, drive him to his knees and hold him down, even as he twists and fights, spitting and seething with murderous rage, his panicked eyes on me. One monster raises its sword, preparing to land a fatal blow that will cleave Loki's head from his neck. My mouth stretches into a silent scream, my body completely paralyzed with pure terror. Loki's eyes are on mine and I see a wave of calm wash through him. He knows he is about to die. His eyes are impossibly sad, still terrified, but not for himself. For me. My heart shatters into a million pieces. His screams echo through my head.

"Stop!" The first monster speaks with the authority of a thousand leaders. The monster with the sword lowers it with a dissatisfied grunt. "Thanos wants him alive!"

The sword monster grunts again then sheaths his weapon, venting his frustrations at being denied his head-chopping privileges by kicking Loki hard in the side.

Fury flashes through me at the sight of this maltreatment, and I can suddenly move again. I start forward, idiotically forgetting that this monster has a _sword_ and that apparently only Loki is required alive. 

The first monster steps smoothly into my path. I stumble back but am momentarily distracted by the fact that it doesn’t even look like it’s walking. It looks like it's floating about an inch of the ground. It reaches for me even as I shy away, smacking at that gross, long fingered hand. It pulls me to him, wrapping one skinny tentacle arm around my throat from behind, and exerting light pressure. I wonder if this is how I’ll die, rear naked choked by an alien monster. My eyes find Loki’s again. If I die now, I want his face to be the last thing I see.

“Let her go!” Loki spits trying to throw off the arms holding him. In vein.

“You care about it?” the monster behind me speaks, sounding oddly curious and inquisitive. “How fascinating. Thanos will be interested to see this. Let’s go!” he calls, then begins to shove me forward. The monsters restraining Loki fall into step behind us.

I twist desperately in the alien’s hold trying to see Loki. He meets my eyes with his own filled with terror, fear, and apologies. I try to tell him with just my eyes that it’s okay, that I love him. And I attempt to hide my own terror from him, but I can tell by the heartbreak in his face that I don’t succeed.

We’re dragged to a large room in which a weirdly shaped chair stands. I’m reminded obscenely of the Iron Throne; this is how I’d always imagined it to look. Movement emanates from behind the throne and then the figure steps into the light and my eyes widen. He is huge. Like ten feet tall and ginormous-ly muscular. And purple. More like a dirty, murky shade of lavender... He drops heavily into the chair, propping his chin on his giant fist, and surveys our little party.

“Loki.” He says in a deep rumbling voice infused with sadness. “This is not how I’d hoped to see you again. I’d hoped to see you triumphant and decorated with the glory of battle, presenting me with the crown to Midgard so I could in return give you the one to Asgard. You had assured me that I would.”

I glance at Loki. The crown to Midgard in exchange for the one to Asgard? What?

“You know as well as I do, Titan, that you forced my hand and actions, promising me Asgard's crown only as a way to convince yourself that I was acting on your orders and not through your control!” Loki says in a low angry voice, and I feel relief lance through me. Next second I feel guilt for doubting him even for a second.

The purple guy sighs heavily. “Semantics, my child. You betrayed me. You had no intention of bringing me the Tesseract.”

“You had no intention of lifting your mind control on me. We are square!”

The Titan laughs. “I had forgotten your silver tongue, Princeling. You stopped using it once I subjugated you.”

“Because you forced me to.”

“No matter. What matters is that you betrayed me, and now you shall pay. As for this one…” he turns to me.

“Leave her be. She is not involved in any of this.” Loki shouts, panicked and fighting once more against his captors.

“Ah, but she matters to you. I only wish to see why, since you once assured me that you were incapable of loving anyone.”

He leans forward on his throne, looking at me. “Annie,” he starts, and I jerk, wondering how the hell he knows my name. “Tell me, Annie, do you love him also?”

My jaw tightens. That’s none of his goddamn business!

“It’s alright now, I know you do not speak. Just answer my question in the way you best know how.”

How the fuck does he know that?! My chin jerks up at a proud angle as my fist clench. I meet the asshole's eyes directly, and nod.

Beside me Loki makes a low broken sound in his throat. The purple fucker leans back in his chair, smiling a slow satisfied smile. “Ah, _love…_ The greatest curse of the universe.”

He turns away from me, back to Loki. “Do you recall what the Other said to you? How there would be no corner in the universe where I would not find you should you fail me?! Well you have failed me, and I have delivered. I have found you, even in the little hole in which you were hiding, thinking yourself safe from me, choosing to face lifetime imprisonment rather than my punishment. Foolish!”

Loki is facing him, features impassive, eyes snapping with hatred.

“Do you remember what else the Other related to you on my orders? How when I found you, you would know pain like you had never known before? How you would long for something as sweet as pain?”

He holds up a hand on which he wears a weird gold metal glove thing, decorated with two glowing gems; one red, one purple. They begin to glow as he slowly begins to close his hand into a fist.

Loki’s body contorts. It twists violently in the arms of his captors as his eyes pop and his mouth stretches open in a soundless scream.

He is clearly in agony.

His ghost screams shriek through my skull, an odd and horrifying juxtaposition because the real Loki in front of me is forcing himself to stay so eerily silent.

Again unthinking and automatically I start towards him and the monster from before grabs me by the upper arms, easily holding me back. I thrash and writhe against its grip as I watch Loki being tortured. His head tosses wildly, teeth clenching, and I know he’s keeping his screams in for my benefit, not wanting to make this worse for me.

The Titan lowers his hand. Loki sags weakly in the grip of his captors.

“That was but a sample; a taste of what is to come. Swear fealty to me, Princeling, this time without mind control, and I will continue the torture until I consider your debt paid, but I will not make it worse. And I will give the girl a quick and merciful death. She will not feel a thing.”

“Let her go,” Loki pants. “Let her go and you can have me.”

I shake my head wildly. No. Nonono!

The Titan throws a glance at me. “She does not appear to be in agreement with your proposal. See? She is shaking her head. How precious. How foolish. And now the deal is void.” He closes his fist again, almost completely this time, and once more Loki’s body arches and twists upwards, jerking amd vibrating uncontrollably. His jaw clenches tight.

I buck against the monster behind me but it's too strong, holding me easily. I stomp with unholy force on its foot and smash my head backwards into its nose, and it actually gives a low howl of pain but still doesn’t release me. Dammit! Bucky said that would work every time, but I guess he wasn’t factoring extraterrestrial monsters into his statistics.

The Titan stops his torture to turn to me. He laughs; a slow, deep, gravelly chuckle. “Oh, she is a fighter! It appears she is a match for you, Loki. I had wondered what you possibly saw in such a small, weak, dull, and fragile little being. But it appears there is more to her than meets the eye. Perhaps after I finish with you, I will see how long it takes to break her…”

“Over my dead body!” Loki grits out between clenched teeth.

The Titan’s great purple face hardens. “That can be arranged.”

And he closes his fist completely. Loki doesn’t quite scream but a low groaning, keening, agonized sound slips from his throat.

I’m the one who screams.

 _“NOOOOO! LOKIIIII._ STOP IT! LEAVE HIM ALONE, YOU FUCKING MONSTERS! GET OFF HIM! STOP IT! SOMEONE HELP US! _HELP US!!!”_

The words rip from my throat, and I’m surprised I don’t see them physically splat to the floor at my feet, charred by fire, and soaked with the gristle and gore of my insides.

Everyone jerks. I don’t know what’s happening, can’t comprehend it, but all of a sudden all the monsters are covering their ears against my continued screams. Loki drops to the floor, boneless, like a bag of water. I suddenly realise that the arms holding me are gone. I’m free. I lunge forward, sliding on my knees up to Loki. My hands flutter over him not sure where to touch and what to do. He’s breathing fast and shallow, and his eyes are closed. He’s not responding to my touch.

I’m still screaming.

It’s exactly like I though it would be; once I start I can’t stop. The monsters are still cringing away, only the Titan appears unaffected. His face is strange; a mixture of curious and furious. I see him rise from his throne. I turn and throw myself over Loki’s unmoving body. The grape flavored fucker will have to go through me to get to him again. Not that that’ll be all that difficult for him. But I won’t just let him take Loki again. I steel my resolve as I meet him head on and prepare to die.

I’m still screaming.

The blast blows my hair in a wild tornado over my face and knocks me forward. It comes unexpectedly from behind me, and I spin instinctively. There’s a hole in the ship through which cold air blows, whipping my hair around my face. Thor, Ironman, Captain America, and the Hulk stand silhouetted against the baby blue sky.

As one they start forward toward the purple jerk who gives a roar of rage. I throw myself over Loki’s chest, still screaming, my voice muffling in his body.

I can't stop screaming.

Suddenly I feel Loki’s arms around me. Then he’s pulling me to my feet and dragging me upwards and away from the fight waging before us. I can't tear my eyes away from the spectacle. I watch as Thor swings Mjolnir, Captain America flings his shield, sending it flying around like a frisbee on steroids, bouncing back and forth against the skulls of the still weirdly incapacitated monsters, knocking them out. Ironman is hovering up near the ceiling, a constant repulsor beam shooting at the Titan, who is holding it off with his bare hands, though his giant, ugly face is contorted with the effort. Hulk meanwhile launches around the room, bouncing off walls, like a great, green gorilla of mass destruction, smashing any of the monsters that the shield misses, with his huge fists.

I don’t realize where Loki is dragging me and what he plans to do until he throws himself right out the hole in the side of the ship that the Avengers' explosive entry made, pulling me with him. My screams turn piercing, and I clutch onto him for dear life as we plummet downwards.

I feel him holding me just as tightly, twisting us around so that he’s below me. Over his shoulder I see the ground rapidly approaching and bury my face against him, knowing I’ll die as soon as we hit. “I love you!” I choke out needing him to hear it at least once.

Then we smash down and the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup.  
> That happened.  
> And I'm leaving you on a cliffhanger.  
> Aren't I evil?!  
> So what do we think? She talked. Consciously. Now what happens? Thanos found Loki. He left but he knows where he is now. Will he be back?  
> I'd really appreciate any and all feedback on this chapter since I'm unsure about its events. I always knew that this was going to happen at some point but I wonder if it was too soon, too late, too rushed, or too out of nowhere. Also I'm really shitty at writing action scenes so I hope it was okay.  
> Anyway, until tomorrow. Maybe if I'm nice I'll post the next chapter sometime later today so y'all dont have to wait so long to find out what happens next.  
> My friend just said that I should do the obnoxious YouTube thing: "100 likes and 20 comments and I'll do (fill in the blank)"  
> Well 10 comments and I'll post the next chapter...  
> NO!!! I AM KIDDING!!! I hate when people try to extort shit like that from the people that support them. Do not ever feel like I'm pressuring or, I dunno, blackmailing y'all in any way. Any comment is super duper appreciated but I'm not gonna be dickish and withhold chapters so I can feed my own internal narcissism and need of validation. Gross.  
> I'm just beyond grateful that so many of you are still sticking around to read.  
> Next chapter will be up later today or early tomorrow morning.  
> Thanks so much, guys! 💕💕💕


	29. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. New chapter. Aren't I nice? 😜  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: anxiety, angst, being triggered by doctors, aftermath of abuse.  
> It's a pretty short chapter, but I hope you like it anyway.

I come to, slowly. There’s a persistent buzzing in my ears, and everything hurts. But I’m alive. Loki’s body cushioned my fall so that I was only momentarily knocked out. It can’t have been too long because we’re still lying in the rubble of the compounds D Wing, and the flying Ferris Wheel still hovers in the sky. Though as I look up, it begins to spin faster, and then shoots off into the sky, shrinking rapidly, until, in a manner of seconds, it’s gone.

I look down at Loki, frantically searching with trembling fingers for a pulse. I find one and cry out in relief.

His eyes flutter open. “Annie…” he mumbles. A trickle of blood runs out the corner of his mouth. He coughs. “Are you alright?”

I nod, waving a hand, dismissing my well being. I point frantically to him.

“I shall be fine.” He croaks. “I have looked worse, believe me.”

I clench my teeth, then push to my feet. I need to get him to the hospital, or at least somewhere where there’s people who can give him medical attention. It may take them hours to find us in these ruins otherwise.

I grab at him, and he realises what I’m trying to do and tries to help me. He manages to roll over and get up onto all fours. There he has a coughing fit, hacking up blood, and panting heavily. I can do nothing but rub his back, and wait for it to subside, feeling heart wrenchingly helpless.

When it stops, he struggles up to his feet. I slip under his arm, tossing it over my shoulders, supporting his weight as best as I can. We stumble forward through the rubble. Loki tries his best to walk, but I bear a lot of his weight, dragging him, and feeling like I’m about to collapse with every step. I push through it though, needing him safe.

He’s a lot weaker than he lets on, limping along, and stopping often to catch his breath. It’s a gruelling walk around and through the shattered remains of the West Wing. I can see the main building looming in the distance, blurry and unfocused through the dust that still hangs thick and motionless in the air. It doesn’t appear to come any closer, our slow and brutal progress not seeming much like progress at all. I strain to hold Loki on his feet while he stumbles blindly along beside me, trusting me to lead him right, his body vibrating with pain at every step.

He collapses, just as I see figures sprinting through the choking mist. I follow him down, trying to catch him in some way and lessen the force of the impact. He doesn’t go all the way down; manages to stay on all fours, one of his hands gripping mine in a death grip. I look up frantically, not wanting to leave him to hunt down the figures I’d just seen, but knowing I need to get their attention somehow. But they’ve spotted us as well, because they’re still coming. Five of them.

I look down at Loki who’s looking up at me weakly, his face pallid and devoid of any color, which contrasts sharply with the scarlet red blood still running from his nose and from between his lips. My free hand strokes over his face, noting with a thrill of fear how clammy his skin is; his cheeks cold, his forehead burning hot.

The figures descend on us and Loki grips me tighter. I squeeze his hand back reassuringly, letting him know that it’s safe; these are friends, not foes. I don’t know most of them, but the one in the lead is Dr. Banner. He immediately takes charge of the scene, and in short order Loki is transferred onto a stretcher. It’s a little bit cumbersome because the medics have to work around me, since I refuse to relinquish Loki’s hand. At one point they try to force me to, but I glare at them with such an imposing look that Dr. Banner steps in and tells them to adjust. He tries to convince me to use a stretcher too, stating that I’m also injured, but I level the same glare at him, and he backs down with the stipulation that he gets to look me over when we get to the hospital.

Through it all Loki lies on the stretcher looking small and broken, eyes slitted tiredly, though never relaxing his death grip on my hand. I don’t relax mine either, limping along beside the stretcher, for the first time becoming aware of all the aches and pains in my own body.

When we enter the main lobby of the Compound Tony comes sprinting towards us. “Jesus, Bruce, you found them. Annie? Are you alright? How did you get out of there?”

I don’t answer, focused on Loki. Tony falls into step with us, accompanying us to the hospital wing where I’m forced to let go of Loki so they can take him inside and get to work on him. Tony holds me back as I try instinctively to follow, while Dr. Banner squeezes my wrist with gentle but ever increasing strength to force my stranglehold to release. My eyes stay glued to Loki’s panicked ones until the door swings shut between us.

I fall back against Tony who holds me up. I don’t even feel the usual electric shocks of being touched, because my body is vibrating so strongly still with residual adrenaline that it feels as if I’m being continuously electrocuted with 2000 volts of energy after getting thoroughly doused with water. Like someone just dropped a plugged in toaster into the bathtub I'm sitting in...

Tony’s phone appears in front of my face. “What happened?” he asks softly, rubbing my shoulders in a calming manner. It does not calm me! I want Loki to be the one touching me, but right now Tony is all I have and I need to trust him. And I do trust him. And so I force myself to take a deep breath; as deep as my clenched lungs will allow me. Then I type. My fingers move slower than normal because they’re shaking so much, and I make a fair amount of spelling mistake, but I can’t be bothered to correct them. I tell him as concisely as I can about the roof of the Compound being blown away over our heads, being beamed up, the Titan torturing Loki, and then about Loki jumping out of the ship with me. I conveniently leave out the part where I’d talked for the first time in over two years.

He knows anyway. “Crazy fucker!” he says when he reads the part about Loki throwing himself out of the ship, with me in tow. “But, Annie, you talked. That’s how we found you. My X-ray vision in my suit couldn’t see through the ship’s alien metal hull, but I heard your screams with my enhanced reconnaissance mode. I didn’t hear any other noises like talking, but I heard you screaming. That’s how we were able to pinpoint your location so exactly, and why we found you guys so quickly, instead of having to search the entire ship.”

And that’s probably what saved us.

Tony looks at me. “So was it a fluke?”

I shrug. I haven’t had time to overthink the screaming yet because I’ve been too worried about Loki. I’m only grateful that it stopped. Which, if I hadn’t passed out for a while there, I don’t think would have happened.

Tony accepts my answer, and turns his head to look out the window beside us. Through it I can clearly see the remains of what once used to be the West Wing. “Thank God it was Sunday.” He says in a wavering voice. “Almost no one was even in that part of the building!”

I feel guilty suddenly for not thinking of the other people who might have gotten seriously hurt. Cold dread washes through me. _Any casualties?_ I type quickly.

He shakes his head and I blow out a relieved breath. “A few injuries; some serious enough to warrant overnight hospital stays, but nothing fatal. The wing was practically deserted and the cellblock took the brunt of the attack. In fact you and Green Lantern here probably were in the thick of things. I can’t believe you walked away from that.

_Loki threw himself on top of me. I guess his body’s more durable because he shielded me from all the collapsing rocks and stuff. I only got winded._

Tony looks at me closely. “You still look like shit, kiddo. No offence.”

I shrug.

“As soon as Brucie's done it’s your turn to get checked over, okay?”

I nod, even though the thought of being poked and prodded all over my body by a doctor makes me want to puke in revulsion and fear.

 _What happened on your end?_ I type, mostly to distract myself.

Tony’s face becomes hard. “Hell if I know. That purple fucker was here for Loki, clearly, but fuck knows how he found out he was here. He booked it pretty quickly when me, Cap, Thor, and the Hulk got there. Not sure why. With the two Infinity Stones he would have been stronger than the four of us combined.”

I wonder what Infinity Stones are, but don’t comment on it, seeing a more pressing problem. _What if he comes back?_

“I’m going to take precautions to prevent that, don’t you worry!”

_What about Loki?_

“What about him?”

 _Well, like you said, grape flavoured Hulk was here for him. If Loki’s not here then he shouldn’t come back. Are you going to send him away?_ Fear tingles in my bones at the thought of this. What will I do if Tony says yes?

He looks down at me, his eyes soft and sympathetic. “I’m not gonna turn him out into the streets, kiddo, don’t you worry. I’ll figure something out, but he’s not going anywhere. Keep your enemies close and all that. Besides I’d say that that was definitive proof that the Mad Titan exists, so it looks like Loki’s story checks out, and maybe he really was innocent in regards to two years ago…”

I nod.

Tony looks at me sideways. “Grape flavoured Hulk, huh? What’s that make Bruce? A lime-sicle?”

Despite the fear still gnawing at my insides I give a tiny giggle. Tony smiles triumphantly.

Dr. Banner pushes out the hospital doors. Immediately I’m on the alert, straightening up to stare at him.

“He’ll be alright.” He says, and I sag against the wall in relief.

“He’s got a few broken, cracked, and bruised ribs, a twisted ankle, a shattered wrist, and several of his vertebra are banged up, but he’ll retain the ability to walk. Plus he has a moderately severe concussion. But nothing insurmountable, and because he also appears to have accelerated healing, being an alien and all, he should be out of here by at least the day after tomorrow.”

Accelerated healing, wow. Honestly it should come as no surprise, but, as always, I’m slapped in the face by the notion of Loki’s extraterrestrial divinity.

Dr. Banner invites me inside and I quiver. Tony sees and looks at me closely, then up at the good doctor. “Be careful with her, Bruce. Don’t crowd her or overwhelm her.”

“Don’t worry about her, Tony.”

I feel a bit self conscious and resentful about being talked about like I’m not there, but it’s something else that comes with not talking. Though does that still technically apply to me now?

I follow Dr. Banner meekly through the healing ward, throwing a look at the bed I know contains Loki. It’s hidden from view by curtains so the other patients won’t see who’s lying here with them. I want to go to him, but content myself with waiting for a little bit longer. I wish I could have his steadying presence beside me through the coming ordeal.

As I limp past, I throw covert glances into the other beds, most of which are occupied by agents sleeping or reading magazines. They all sport bandages somewhere, some of which are bloodstained, but none look life threateningly injured, which is a relief. In the last bed lies Agent Brenner. He’s moaning and groaning up a storm, lamenting his strained shoulder, but everyone around ignores him, leading me to believe that he’s greatly exaggerating whatever pain he’s in.

Dr. Banner leads me into a little private examination room and leaves me there while I change into a thin paper robe, and then sit hunched and hunkered down on the table, trembling with dread as I await his return.

The next half hour is torture. Dr. Banner is sweet, and kind, and gentle. He gives me space, asks permission multiple times before touching me, and explains in detail everything he’s doing so I know what’s going on. He apologizes profusely for the fact that there are no female nurses on staff today, but they all have the the Sunday off, and he's understaffed as it is already. I endure everything, strung so tightly that I feel like I’ll shoot off this examination table at any second, like a rubber band stretched to its limit and then released. My heart pounds so wildly that Dr. Banner gives up trying to capture an accurate pulse reading.

In the end, I’m fine. Mostly. I’m bruised to kingdom come; more black and blue than flesh toned, I have several scrapes, cuts, and other lacerations, one of my ankles is swollen, as is one of my wrists, and I have a mild concussion. The concussion warrants Dr. Banner’s decision to keep me here overnight to monitor me, but if no adverse symptoms such as dizziness, nausea, or vomiting arise he says I can leave tomorrow morning.

He automatically sequesters me in the bed next to Loki’s, extending the curtain wall to include my bed too.

Loki lies there, pale and asleep, his wrists secured to the sides of the bed by padded shackles. When I point them out to Dr. Banner with outrage, he calms me by saying that it’s a security measure because Loki is, after all, still a prisoner. I growl quietly about it but I accept it. Then I crawl into my assigned bed and fall into an exhausted sleep, curled up like a cat, facing Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!!!


	30. Arrows and Assasination Attempts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is up with that chapter title? What does that mean? I admit it might be a little bit dramatic but I love alliteration. You'll see.  
> I know this is a short chapter but we have a new guest joining us who I've been waiting for for quite some time. I hope you'll be happy with this person. Enjoy.

I don’t know exactly how long I’m out but it must have been a few hours because when I wake up it’s dark outside. I look around, blinking the sleep from my eyes, seeing that Loki is still beside me, still unconscious. The curtain wall has been extended again to include a third bed on my other side, but all I can see of its occupant is a sizable lump under the covers that moves up and down evenly, indicating the persons slow, deep breathing. Probably asleep.

I gulp some water from the pitcher by my bed, then lie down on my side, watching Loki, ascertaining myself that his chest is moving. His head is turned to face me even in sleep, as if he can sense my presence there, off to his left.

I fall into a sort of semi-daze watching him and it takes me a few moments too long to break out of it when the curtains push open slowly at the foot of Loki’s bed.

When a dark figure creeps closer and bends over him I, at first, don’t think too much about it, assuming it to be some kind of night nurse, or even Dr. Banner himself, here to check the patients' vitals.

Even when I catch a glint of silver I don’t immediately recognize that something is wrong.

Suddenly there is a rustling noise from behind me and then a light flares up as a bedside lamp is switched on, illuminating the figure standing over Loki, holding up what I now recognize as a knife, poised over his chest.

My body goes stone cold.

“I really wouldn’t do that, Agent Brenner,” a deep, even voice sounds from behind me.

I fling myself around to stare at the man who’s risen from the other bed. He’s holding a tautly spanned bow, the arrow notched and pointing straight at Dylan, who’s frozen, open mouthed, still holding the knife aloft. I scramble up to sitting, instinctively wanting to throw myself at Agent Asshole, but the man behind me speaks.

“Stay right there, jellybean. I got this.”

I realize that he’s right; that I really shouldn’t get in between two weapon wielding guys, but I don’t quite trust that the bow and arrow man isnt going to turn around and hurt Loki. Because clearly this is Hawkeye, and if anyone’s still got a score to settle with Loki then it’s Agent Barton, even though Loki was in the same boat as him, mind control wise. But I don’t know if Agent Barton knows that…

Dylan seems to have had the same idea. “What the hell, man? What are you doing? This psychopath took away your free will and forced you to do terrible shit. Why are you protecting him?”

“It’s my assignment, and it’s an agent’s job to always protect his charge no matter how much of an ass-wipe they may be. Which you would know if you weren’t a subpar idiot who eked by the training program with passable grades because of your physical fitness scores. Drop that knife!”

Dylan doesn’t. He glares at Hawkeye. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll get an arrow through the wrist. Believe me, I wont miss. I’m not too bothered about the green bitch's safety but there’s also an innocent civilian here in your line of fire, and her I do give a crap about. So if you don’t drop that thing by the time I count to three, then you’ll be pushing pencils with your left hand after I report what you did here and get you suspended and on desk assignment. Again. Three… two…”

Dylan drops the knife and puts his hands up.

“Good choice.” Agent Barton doesn’t lower his bow. “Now, you’re gonna skedaddle off to bed. No, not that one; your own bed in your own room ‘cause clearly your shoulder isn’t as badly hurt as you said, since you were able to lift that knife just fine. And tomorrow as soon as the suns up you’re gonna march yourself to Director Fury's office and meet me there. And if you don’t I’ll make sure that you get fired for this little stunt instead of just suspended. Got it?”

Dylan nods, his face screwed up tight like he’s gonna cry or start shouting at any second.

“Shoo, shoo!” agent Barton says, making twiddling motions with his fingers where they still hold his bow at the ready.

Dylan throws me a long look, which I return with hate narrowed eyes. Then he looks down at Loki contemptuously, before spinning on his heel and walking away.

Agent Barton keeps the bow raised and trained on his retreating back until the heavy door of the hospital slams shut behind him. Then he lowers it and looks over at me, where I’m sitting curled up tightly against my headboard. “You okay, pop tart?”

I nod, then look at Loki.

“He’ll be fine.”

I pick up the pen and paper that someone had the foresight to place on the nightstand beside me, and scribble. _Thank you for saving him._

“I didn’t do it for him, lollipop.”

Who then? Me? He doesn’t even know me. And why was he here anyway?

Agent Barton grins. “Don’t look so confused, gumdrop. Tony asked me to watch over the two of you tonight in case someone tried something. He restricted access to the ward temporarily but he couldn’t do anything about the people already inside. Tasha's not here right now otherwise she would have been here instead, but she had something personal to take care of in Bacau of all places. So Tony sent me. He said not to tell you unless I had to, so it wouldn’t freak you out to have a strange dude in the bed beside you, essentially staring at you from under the covers all night.”

Yea, that sounds like Tony. I give Agent Barton a tiny smile. He has a calm, easygoing manner about him that I like. I’m still as weary as I usually am, but not too afraid considering he has a weapon and is clearly stronger than me.

I take the notepad and pen and slip out of my bed to crawl in beside Loki, being careful not to jostle him. I know I probably shouldn’t, but after what just happened I need to feel his proximity. Agent Barton’s eyebrows rise as he watches me relocate, but then he follows, plopping himself down onto my newly vacated bed. “So you really like him, huh?”

I nod. _He didn’t do what you think he did. He was mind controlled too._

Agent Barton sighs heavily, then leans his head back against the wall. “Yea, so I’ve been told. It’s just hard to believe and come to terms with. He seemed very lucid. But then again so did I, apparently. But I’ve already become really good at hating him, and the lingering resentment isn’t gonna be easy to get rid of.”

I nod, understanding. _But you protected him tonight._

“Like I said, sugar bear, I did that for you. But maybe it can be a start, though I don’t think me and him will ever be friendship bracelet making, braiding each others hair at slumber parties type best buddies. Know what I’m saying?”

I nod. No, I don’t think they will be. Which is fine as long as neither of then wants to murder the other. _He says he regrets what he did to you and what he was forced to make you do._

“Does he?”

I nod, remembering the night Loki told me that. _He also says he respects you. Because what the mind control does is turn off the part of your brain that naturally resists and just makes you blindly follow orders no matter how evil they are. It doesn’t take away your skills and stuff. He says you’re a formidable warrior with great intelligence._

“Mm, if he keeps buttering me up like that, and maybe even does it in person sometime, then I just might be persuaded to braid his hair!”

I laugh quietly.

Agent Barton grins, self satisfied. “Go back to sleep, honeybun. I’ll make sure no other nefarious attempts on your sweetheart’s life are made.”

I scowl at him over the use of the phrase "my sweetheart" which makes him chuckle softly.

One more time I write: _Thank you. From both of us._ And this time he accepts it, nodding resignedly. When I put down the notepad he reaches to turn off the bedside lamp, stretching his long legs out on the bed, back leaning against the wall, bow in his lap, on the alert for any further disturbances.

I place my head carefully on Loki’s chest, right over his heart, taking comfort in its strong, steady rhythm, and fall back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is. Agent Brenner is a Buttface. Why cant he get fired already?! Shhh, because I have plaaaansss for him...  
> I dont know what was up with Clint always calling Annie after candy and sweets but it just somehow fit. I dunno... Hope it's not weird. It made me laugh writing it in any case.  
> Ok, thank you for reading, wonderful peoples!


	31. Naproxen and Nicknames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for some angst and flashbacks and anxiety.   
> So another short chapter but the next one will be really long to make up for the last two, I promise.

  
When I wake up the next day Captain America is sitting, leaned back in a chair, next to the bed. In the background I can see Tony talking to Dr. Banner. Hawkeye is gone. There’s a note affixed to the wall beside me, held in place with an arrow. _Call me if you need me, cookie. Clint._ And then his phone number. I smile.

It take me several moments to notice that Loki is awake beneath me. He’s talking to Steve. I lift my head to look up at him. Immediately his focus and attention shifts to me. “Good morning, love.” He says softly. “Are you alright?”

I nod mutely, and even though I can see the dozens of questions in his eyes, he doesn’t ask any of them.

I turn to Steve. He smiles gently at me.

Tony joins us. “Mornin’, sweetheart. You’re just in time. We were discussing moving Reindeer Games, after what happened last night.”

I look at Loki who rolls his eyes at Tony’s nickname for him. “I am not even wearing my helmet, Stark.”

“Just cause you don’t have your antlers on doesn’t mean that you’re not still a caribou!” Tony shoots back, before turning back to me. “Problem is, we have nowhere to put him. The prison wing’s gone boom, as I’m sure you noticed. We were discussing options for other rooms to put him in since it’s not hard for me to just restrict access to wherever he is.”

He sees me scowling, and correctly interprets my annoyance. “Not because we’re punishing him, kiddo. He’s basically free at this point. At least from a prosecution standpoint. But we need to keep him contained for the time being, for his own safety, so that no one else comes and attacks him. I plan to keep him sequestered while he recuperates fully, and meanwhile we spread the news of what really happened behind the scenes in New York. Some people may always believe he’s guilty, but it should at least let him walk around without fear of being attacked too much.”

I look at Loki again who looks back at me evenly.

“So I was thinking we might, for the time being, put him up in your room.”

My head swings up and around, back to face Tony. He grins wryly. “I mean, you spend all your time with him anyway; we may as well move you in together already. And since he no longer has prisoner status we can forgo the cameras.”

I lick my lips slowly.

“Thank God.” Tony continues. “At least this way I no longer have to watch the two of you getting it on.”

I blush, mortified, while Loki speaks dryly. “If you do not like it, Stark, then you should have averted your eyes.”

“Yea, Jafar, you’re tellin' me!” Tony grumbles, while I blush, deeper burying my burning face in the crook of Loki’s neck, feeling the soft, silent laughter that shakes him.

“I enjoy attempting to keep up with your varying names for me, Stark.”

Tony grins crookedly.

“The substandard villain from Aladdin, yes?”

Tony looks surprised now, “How the hell have you seen that movie? Don’t tell me kiddo here snuck a flat screen into your cell too?”

Loki grins down at me while I smile up t him, knowing the answer to Tony’s question.

“No but she snuck a copy of _1001 Nights_ in to me."

“Ok, Tinkerbell, that’ll do it.”

 _“Peter Pan_ by James Barrie. Far superior to the films. Or so I’m told…” he squeezes me very lightly.

“So she’s had you doing a Disney omnibus then?” Tony asks ruffling my hair lightly.

I notice Loki’s watchful eye, affixed to Tony’s hand, and I get the impression that if he needed to; since his wrists are still restrained, he would absolutely bite Tony’s hand off if Tony used it to hurt me…

Tony seems to be thinking along the same lines because he rolls his eyes dramatically but removes his hand without a snarky comment. I guess he understands too that after what we’ve just been through, Loki’s bound to be about a hundred times more protective of me than before.

Loki speaks up, “Where is my worthless brother? Why is he not here at my bedside, commiserating on my well being and calling me names too?”

“Thor’s gone to Asgard to explain your innocence to his father.” Steve says, and I raise my head to look at Loki, catching the quick flash of dread that flares in his eyes.

“I wish him the best of luck…” he says, voice light and nonchalant, but wobbling slightly. “When can I be moved?”

“Now. Whenever you feel ready.” Dr. Banner has joined the conversation. “Just lie down again when you get to Annie’s room. And have her come get me if you feel nauseous or dizzy, or you can’t answer simple questions that you feel you should know the answer to.” He moves forward and begins to undo the restraint around Loki’s right wrist. I twist around and undo the other one.

“I’m gonna give you some painkillers. I doubt the recommended dosage will be enough for you, but take them sparingly so you don’t overdo it. You should be totally back to normal in a few days.”

Loki nods, giving Dr. Banner his sincere thanks, as he sits up, rubbing his wrists. I slide out of bed and stand beside it to wait, while Loki stretches carefully. Slowly he rises to his feet, moving stiffly. I dart forward, wrapping a helpful arm around his waist. He leans gratefully into me, planting a kiss on the crown of my head.

I look back at the three Avengers standing there watching us with inscrutable expressions on their faces. Then I turn and start to walk with Loki towards the doors, snatching up Clint’s note as I go.

Steve winds up accompanying us, and his presence ensures that we get no more than a few strange and contemptuous looks. At the door to my room he passes me a little tin that I immediately recognize as the one from under Loki’s old cot; the one that holds all his worldly possessions. I take it, feeling how heartbreakingly light it is, but how heavy with implications. After Steve leaves with a curt nod, I help Loki sit on the edge of my bed as he looks interestedly around my little domain. I pull off the green hospital gown, studiously ignoring the fact that he is naked beneath the blanket I’d tossed over his lap earlier. His torso is spattered with a multitude of bruises in various shades of blue and purple that peek out from under the bandages that wrap his damaged ribs. I dig an oversized vintage Paul McCartney shirt out of my drawer, along with an old pair of faded boxers that I’d used to wear to sleep before I stopped spending nights in my own bed. I pass them to him wordlessly, wondering how I’m going to get him into the pants without seeing him.

He senses my dilemma and gently tells me to turn around, that he can manage by himself. I do, feeling relieved though slightly guilty that I can’t help him. It takes him a long time, but finally he let’s me know that I can turn back around. I do, and see him just laying back atop the covers with a pained sort of exhale.

I read the description of the pain medication which says to give 1 pill every 4 or 5 hours as needed. I give him 3. He gulps them down obediently then closes his eyes. I stand, looking down at his pale haggard face, feeling my heart splinter in my chest.

Loki opens his arms, “C'me ‘ere.” He mumbles, voice slurred by the painkillers.

When I don’t move his eyes open; those green, green eyes that I know so well; better than my own, looking at me with such love and trust, saturated with so much pain. It draws me to him. I slip out of my shoes and socks and shove off my jeans before I crawl in next to him, tucking in beside him as tightly as I would have in his tiny cot, though my full size bed has much more room. Very carefully I lower my head down onto his chest, mindful of his bandaged ribs.

His arms come around me and I feel his breathing slow and even out as his exhausted body prepares to slip into sleep. I want to join him there, but when I close my eyes all I see is him contorted grotesquely in those monsters' arms, mouth stretched in a silent scream, face twisted in unspeakable agony as the Titan tortures him. All I see is the way he looked at me with the heartbreaking knowledge of his imminent death in his eyes, his fear of being forced to watch me die before him. All I see is him lying on the floor, unmoving and still.

“Shh, love.” Loki murmurs into my hair, and I realize I’m trembling lightly and crying, my tears slipping down to make a dark wet stain on my own heather grey t-shirt that he wears. “It’s alright. Shh, I’m alright.”

I nod against him even though it’s not and neither is he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love writing the banter between Loki and Tony. They're just fun.  
> So without spoiling anything I'm gonna give y'all like 24 hours to prepare for the next chapter which is rightfully entitled "The Shit Hits the Fan". It is a HEAVY chapter so lay out your snuggies, have some tea ready, borrow a pet to cuddle if you dont have one, maybe bake some comfort cookies, and be prepared for tomorrow. Seriously though! Get yourself in the right mindset for it. No ones dying though! If that puts any minds at ease...  
> Love y'all. Thanks for reading!


	32. Shit Hits the Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> cutting. Self harm. There is actual self harm in this chapter, not just scars. Theres descriptions of the act, of the feelings, of the blood and what it looks like. There is talk of rape. Panic. Angst. Yelling. Anger. Fear. Flashbacks.  
> Smut.  
> But also fluff, and healing, and truth.  
> All in all this may be an overwhelming chapter. Maybe theres too much happening all at once but I couldnt find a natural break in it and I didnt want to just randomly cut it in the middle. I hope it works. But please do not read this just for the sake of reading it cause its posted. Be in a good place mentally to read it. I dont want anyone getting triggered. Please stay safe!!! 💕💕💕

I awake with a scream trembling on my lips though I just barely catch it before it tumbles out and wakes Loki who is slumbering beside me.

As quietly as I can, I slip out from the circle of his arms and tiptoe into the bathroom. I stand in front of the mirror, staring at the girl staring back at me. He dirty blonde hair is stringy and hangs lifelessly around her pallid dead looking face. Her eyes are the color of mud; gray, and lifeless, and sludgy. Her lips are pressed together tightly, keeping in the swell of words that threaten to explode at any second after years of being forced down, down, down.

I want to throw my head back and scream my throat raw, I want to curse at the heavens themselves, drive my fist through this mirror! I want to draw blood, want to pull the pain from within those unholy depths inside of me, before it slices me into pieces.

I can’t get the images of Loki tortured out of my mind, can’t stop thinking that those few seconds I saw were multiplied a thousand fold over the five years he was tortured before. I can’t picture it, I can’t bear it to think of him in so much pain for so long. How is he alive? How is he walking, and talking, and functioning? How is he able to be so kind, and gentle? How is he able to love me?

My fingers twist in my own hair, pulling savagely to feel the pain in my scalp.

God, I’m going crazy.

Everything dark inside me curdles into a thick soup of self hatred! I am not worthy of Loki. I am a messed up, ruined shell of a girl; charred and blackened, burned out, by what happened to me; which, when placed side by side with his suffering, is inconsequential. I am unable to function because of an ordeal that lasted maybe an hour, while he is so much, can do so much, even after five years of nonstop torture. I am so selfish and weak!

I can’t stop it. I can’t make these conflicting feelings inside me stop. I feel like I’m crawling out of my own skin with residual horror, and fear, and confusion, combined with the undeniable knowledge that I will never ever measure up next to Loki. And it’s not because he is a god of legends and I’m nothing but a puny human. But because he is so much, he is everything, and I quite simply… am not. Am nothing.

It feels like there’s something sick and twisted crawling up my throat from where it's spent the past two years living in the deepest recesses of my gut. I can feel it slithering slowly upwards, ready to explode from my mouth and leveling all around me, and anyone unlucky enough to be in the vicinity, with its ugliness, all to the echo of Loki’s screams in my head.

I know what this thing is. It is my own voice, forced to be dormant for so long, and mutated during that time into something vile and twisted.

I’d done it. I’d spoken after almost two and a half years, and now I can’t stop the memories, the flashes of pain and terror. They combine in a sickening mix with the new images of Loki twisted up in pain, collapsed on the ground, broken and tortured, the look of dark horror in his eyes when he’d looked at me for what he thought would be the last time.

Underneath that, almost as an afterthought, is the horror of the realization that I, myself, had almost died. I hear the first monster’s voice echoing in my head so dismissively: _“Kill her!”_ , like I meant nothing; like my life meant nothing at all. But this horror is muted and dulled by the fact that I’d almost lost Loki, though I wonder detachedly if it will strike me at some point soon and knock me even further down. I could have died! Even now I could have been dead. Do I want to be dead? I don’t know. For the longest time I felt I was, wished I was, but then Loki came and made me feel alive. And with that came all the other feelings. Scary feelings. But the love was better. And now that I feel unworthy of loving him, of _being_ loved _by_ him, that feels tainted too, and I don’t know what’s left.

It makes me sick. I make myself sick; I repulse myself. I feel my fingernails digging into my palms into the spot where the scabs used to be, where there are now only semicircles of scar tissue, the skin light pink, baby soft, and sensitive. My nails drive down savagely, and I know if I don’t stop I’ll break that new skin. I need to stop. But only Loki has ever been able to make me stop and I refuse to wake him. Not after what hes been through. Again.

I am lost in an oblivion of terror. It’s swallowing me whole, and I want it to stop!

Turning my back forcefully on the haunted, broken, _ruined_ shell in the mirror, I stumble back out into the room. My eyes land on my dresser. There in a single patch of moonlight, almost reminiscent of a spotlight pointing me to it, stands the little tin that up until recently lived under Loki’s bed. On autopilot I walk over to it and look down at it. I lick my lips. I want to open it.

I’m aware of what a gross invasion of his privacy this would be, but my muddled brain can’t muster up any guilt right now. My trembling fingers reach out to touch the cold metal. Slowly I flip the lid open. Inside is the first aid kit he'd used so often to patch me up, a strange intricate, bejewelled amulet on a fine golden chain, a few folded pieces of paper which I recognize as certain notes I’d passed him, the MP3 player, a rumpled up square of scarlet fabric with frayed edges, and what appears to be the top of a perishable food can.

I frown at this last object and only when I pull it out do I realize what it is. One side of it has been torn away, leaving a jagged edge that is sharp to the touch.

I turn to look over my shoulder at where Loki is sleeping. My short sleeved shirt leaves his arms bare, and though it’s too dark to see them, I know they’re there; the thin silvery scars that climb up his arms like ladder rungs.

I turn my back to him and look at the piece of metal.

There’s something squeezing my chest, cracking my ribs, as an urge roars to life inside me and the vile thing creeps higher and higher up my throat. I can’t stand it. I want to feel something, _anything,_ anything but this. I’m suffocating again, my lungs not lungs anymore but two charred, burnt blocks of wood. I want to run. I want to scream. I want to smash my feelings into powder with Thor’s hammer, but fuck knows I am _so_ not worthy of wielding that thing. I want to destroy myself.

I want pain.

I’m not really even aware of sinking to the floor in front of my dresser, still clutching that piece of metal that at the moment looks like both a curse, and salvation.

I flip it in my cold hands and then thrust my arm into the shaft of moonlight. It looks pale white, ghostly and otherworldly, like _I’m_ the alien. The strange notion hits me that I won’t be able to hurt myself; won’t be able to make myself bleed. Aliens don’t bleed, do they?

Images of Loki hacking up blood flash unbidden into my mind. Yes. Yes, they do bleed. And now I feel sick again.

Okay. So, I’m not an alien. Clearly. What else does my arm look like? It looks dead. Like the fleshy, bloated limbs of a corpse pulled out of the ocean, waterlogged and leeched of all color after days of being afloat. Am I dead? I could be… the lyrics of a song by the Goo Goo Dolls scream into my mind: _Yeah, you bleed just to know you’re alive!_

And suddenly I want to know. Want to know if I’m alive. Will I bleed? I don’t think I will because I don’t feel alive. Not right now.

I press the jagged edge of the metal to the soft inner skin of my forearm and press down. With a shaking hand I tear the metal across. Then, without thinking, I do it again. And again. And again. When the world comes back into focus I have ten dark, lopsided, and crooked lines on my arm. My first inane thought is that now Loki and I match. Then I realise that no, we don’t. His scars are so clean, and straight, carved into his skin with meticulous care and precision to ensure that they are even, exactly the same length and depth, proportionally spaced apart down to the millimeter. Mine are crooked, and ragged, diagonally all over the place, some shallow, some deeper. It seems fitting somehow; the evidence of Loki’s pain so ordered and controlled, like he is. Mine so messy and horrid, just like me!

I watch with detached interest as blood wells up in them. So I am alive. But am I? In the pale, silvery moonlight the blood doesn’t look red. It looks black. Like ink; like tar. Like the sludge of filth I’d always imagined was bubbling through my veins like acid. It seems fitting.

The pain hits me. It literally blows my mind wide open. It chases away the fog of numbness, leaving me painfully focused, everything suddenly crystal clear. I want more! I raise the metal again…

“Annie, love, put that down.”

I turn my head. Loki is there, sitting up in bed, huge eyes staring at me, glowing as they always do at night. Like a cat’s. In them I see pain, but not the physical kind from his injuries. The mental and emotional kind. Caused by me.

Caused by me!

My arm drops automatically. Loki launches forward with inhuman speed, sliding into me on his knees. He wrenches the shard of metal from my hand and squeezes it in his fist. When he opens his fingers I see that little sheet of metal reduced to a sparkling powder, completely disintegrated by his strength. My breath catches in my throat at the evidence of how damn strong he is, as he wipes the glittery dust off on the carpet.

“Annie! Fuck!”

I flinch, not really from the curse though it’s the first time I’ve heard that word from his mouth, but from the feel of him smashing me against his chest, his arms iron around me. He is shuddering violently.

_“Damn it!”_

Twice. That’s twice I’ve made him swear in thirty seconds.

He pushes me away, sweeps a hand over my face, pushing back the sticky hair from where it’s glued to my skin with clammy sweat. His other hand is holding my arm elevated, his fingers tight; too tight, biting into my wrist. His eyes are bloodshot, wild, and livid.

“What?” he shouts in my face, shaking me. “Tell me! Tell me what is so bad that you would wake up at night and do _this_ to yourself instead of walking the three steps over to that bed and waking me? Tell. Me!”

Tears are pouring down my face, and I’m shaking my head. I can’t stop them, and he's glaring fiercely at me, the tightly reigned-in rage he’s emanating making me even more incoherent than I normally am. And I’m trying, I’m _trying_ to talk to him, to tell him that I don’t know what I’m doing, that I feel shattered, that all I can hear, could hear for the past two years, is his screaming, but now those screams are accompanied by pictures and it’s driving me insane, because if there’s anything worse than my own pain it’s imagining _his,_ but, as usual, nothing is coming out of my mouth. I just open and close it, gulping like a fish, as tears and snot stream down my face in equal amounts, running between my gasping lips, and dripping off my chin to mingle with the beading blood on my arm.

Something shifts in his face, all the anger draining out of him, leaving him brittle and empty. His shoulder sag and his eyes look old; so old, and impossibly tired and miserable. “Annie, love. Norns. Please. Just _talk_ to me.”

It’s the break in his voice that undoes me. I throw myself forward at him with so much force that he doesn’t expect it and overbalances, falling backwards onto the carpet, the air blowing out of his lungs in a pained huff, on impact.

And I realise I’d hurt him. Again. How could I have forgotten about all his injuries? God. I am so careless; so fucking worthless! All I do is hurt people. Hurt _him!_ What the fuck is wrong with me?!

His arms band around me again, holding me close, soothing me, stroking my hair, my wet face. “I’m alright.” He whispers. “It’s alright.”

But I shake my head because he’s not alright. It’s not alright. They would have killed him. The monsters. The Titan. They would have killed him if I hadn’t opened my mouth and screamed. And now I can’t put it a back inside me again. I’m coming apart, the parts of me sliding down my tearstained face, dripping down my mangled arm.

I love him so much it’s breaking all the last pieces of me that were still whole. Or maybe it's sewing together the broken pieces, the needle stabbing through my skin with blood red thread. I can’t decide. Either way it hurts. It hurts like hell! But I don’t want it to stop.

I slip my arms underneath him, not even feeling the carpet chafing the fresh cuts. I need to anchor myself to him, to affix myself as permanently as I can. I stretch up and crush my lips against his.

Loki goes absolutely still. His lips feel like slabs of marble beneath mine.

And then he’s moving, and suddenly we’re both up on our knees, and his teeth are nipping at my lips, and I open letting him in. His mouth claims mine with barely suppressed violence, his tongue sweeping in to take possession. He angles into the kiss and I tilt my head back, my hair spilling backwards over my bare calves. I can taste the salt of my tears and maybe his as well, and I think about that I made him cry, and it crushes me even more.

He’s trying to devour me and I want him to because then I’ll be as close as I can get.

“Loki!” I breathe into his mouth.

He rips away from me. For an endless moment he stares at me, his eyes dark, impossibly dark; pupils blown to almost black, and then he’s back, kissing me with the same urgency as before, yet infinitely, indescribably more gently and reverently.

His hands drop to my butt, rubbing and kneading it through my underwear. He drags me against the heat of his arousal and I shudder at the feel of it pressed into my belly through the cotton of those thin boxers.

Loki groans at the pressure, rocking his hips against mine as one of his hands slips beneath the hem of my shirt and slides up my spine, then back down and around the side; forward, splaying over my stomach, then up to cup one of my breasts. He flips down the cup of my bra and lightly pinches my nipple, hardening it and making me gasp and moan. I grasp his shoulders to keep from collapsing backwards, and arch my back, pressing my chest closer, further into his hand. It feels so good. I want him to never stop. My whole body is tight with need.

“More.” I whisper and then reach for the hem of those boxers. At the last second my fingers chicken out and land on his stomach instead, tracing over the tight lacing of his abs, feeling them twitch beneath my touch. Emboldened by his reaction to my touch, I slide one hand into the waistband of his boxers and carefully take his length into my hand.

He shudders as I squeeze lightly, bucking his hips into my grip.

Suddenly I’m on my back on the carpet with Loki hovering over me, weight braced on his forearms. He rips my shirt off in one sweeping motion, wincing at the pain this causes. He forgets it the next second as his eyes take in my body. He doesn’t see the bruises that mar my soft, pale flesh; he sees only what he wants to see. He’s sitting astride my hips, without putting any of his weight on me and touches me so carefully, so reverently, as if I were made of pure gold, or spun glass.

“So beautiful!” he whispers.

Hes touching me all over, everywhere, except were I’m aching for him.

 _“Please!”_ I whisper voice wrecked and tiny.

Before the word has even fully left my lips, his fingers hook into my underwear, pulling it down my legs and discarding it behind him. Then he stretches himself out on top of me, blanketing my smaller body with his large, warm one.

I can feel the hot weight of his arousal pressed between my legs, and I moan as I meet his eyes which are careful and questioning. In answer I grip him tighter, clawing at him, wanting him closer because this still isn’t close enough.

He pulls away. I whimper desolately at the loss of him, but then he leverages himself over me, weight balanced on one arm, his large body tilted to one side, and pressing the heel of his hand between my legs. He watches me writhe, his eyes cool and calculating, but at the same time so hot and ardent. When he feels me shudder, he dips his hand lower, spreading my thighs to accommodate the width of his palm.

One finger slips inside me, and my head whips side to side. He withdraws, but before I can complain, he’s sliding back inside, using his other fingers to spread me intimately, his thumb coming up to rub over my screaming bundle of nerves.

My fingers claw into the carpet as my heels push in and my head drops back. My spine arches and my body goes taut, before everything releases and I see stars.

“Annie,” Loki whispers, and then he swings himself back on top of me. His knees nudge my thighs apart until he has the space to slot himself between them. The boxers are gone, and for the life of me I can’t remember him taking them off.

I feel him nudge against me, and then he stops.

“Annie?” he whispers softly.

And just like that, I realize that he knows. He’s guessed it already, probably a long, long time ago. _He knows!_ He knows that dirtiest thing about me and he wants me anyway; loves me anyway!

Warmth spreads through me, accompanied by another feeling that takes me a moment to recognize. But then it makes itself known to me: assurance. He loves me, and I love him, and I trust him, and he will never hurt me!

I nod.

He waits for several endless seconds, watching me, gauging the truth behind my action. Then his arm wraps underneath me, lifting my hips up to the perfect angle. He pushes inside me in one easy slide.

My eyes slam shut as I moan at the feeling of him, so hot, so hard, so deep. So perfect. It shouldn’t be possible to be this close to someone, to have them invade every last part of you like Loki has. He’s worked his way into every crack and fissure within me.

I could never keep him out anyway!

And for once it's close enough.

He pulls back slowly, almost all the way out and then pushes back in, filling me completely. His face is in my hair and his groan vibrates against the side of my throat.

“Are you alright?” he whispers, his breath stirring my hair.

I nod but it’s obviously not enough, because he raises himself up to look down at me, his eyes intense and glowing. I squirm at the way the movement feels inside me. It is amazing, and intense, and indescribable, and it’s _Loki!_

“Is this alright?” he asks searching my face.

_Yes._

When his whole face lights up with wonder I realize I must have said it aloud without even planning or wanting to. But this is what he does to me. He fixes me. It butchers me, but he fixes it. And I love him so much for that!

His hips start to surge forward, setting a fast, desperate rhythm. I rock up to meet his thrusts, digging my nails into his back, letting him take what he needs. I know this is for him now, know that he’s given me my release, and now he’s chasing his own high, finally relinquishing some of that rigid control he always has around me.

Then suddenly he lifts his head, looking down at me, and I realize that he’s still right there with me, focused on me at the same time as he chases his own orgasm. One hand snakes between our tightly pressed together bodies, splaying on my lower belly, thumb just barely ghosting over my clit.

“Look at me.” He murmurs when my eyes slide closed at the bolt of pure pleasure that jolts through me. “Dammit, _look at me!_ ” He growls when I don’t immediately comply.

My eyes fly open instantly, and I wrap my legs around his hips where they tighten like a vice as he pushes down hard on my clit, grinding his thumb down. I explode. My body tightens, which spurs on his own orgasm. His head drops into the juncture of my neck and shoulder, his teeth very lightly biting down into the sensitive skin there, as he growls his release.

He’s still lying on top of me, both of us panting, then suddenly I feel his muscles tighten, though not with need this time. He rolls off me, straightens, and turns away.

I’m left lying forlornly on my back on the floor in the middle of my room, completely naked, with my thighs spread lewdly. Shame washes over me as I gingerly close my legs and fumble for my shirt, slipping it on with clumsy fingers, not realizing until to late that it’s inside out.

I feel unbearably exposed, especially without my panties. Anguish is a living thing inside my chest, eating my heart in big chomping bites. I look at Loki’s rigid back where he stands at my window, hands braced on the sill, staring fixedly into the night outside. Trembling, I drag myself to my feet, wanting to go to him, but not sure if he’ll let me. I can’t believe that he would just walk away and leave me there after _that,_ and I don’t think I could bear it if he shook off my touch.

I creep closer, trying to be as silent as possible.

He hears me, of course. His head swings to the side. He’s not looking at me, but I can see his profile, and it appears to be hewn from stone, cold and furious.

“Do me the favour,” he snarls. “If, in future, you wish to slice yourself up, then at least refrain from using my property to do so. And perhaps even wait until I am not physically occupying the same space as you. Lessen my guilt even infinitesimally.”

I flinch at the hatred in his voice. It’s not directed at me, I can sense that, but at himself. Still, it stuns me, and it hurts to have him talking to me that way; especially because he’s right.

 _I’m sorry!_ I scribble on my notepad that’s lying atop my nightstand. I shove it under his nose. He glances down for barely a split second before he gives a short, humorless bark of laughter and turns away. His hands come up, fingers interlocking behind his head, bending his neck, shoulders bowing forward.

My heart shivers and shrivels inside me. I can bear his anger, even his hatred if I have to; but I can’t take his pain. I never could take his pain which is what caused this entire mess tonight. But what’s so much worse is that this time _I’d_ caused the pain. _I’m_ the one who’s bringing this pain unto him!

I scribble again, quickly, my hands shaking wildly, and my chest achy and tight. I need to make this better! I have to. Have to fix this.

When I offer him my notepad he steadfastly ignores me, not even looking down at what I wrote, pretending like I’m not waving the thing in his face. I poke him with the corner, and he jerks and turns away.

I swing the notebook at him, whacking him hard across the bicep. He wheels around, eyes snapping with anger. I stand my ground, not afraid of him, knowing that he won’t hurt me; won’t take his anger out on me by getting physical. I know it!

“You want to talk?” he yells. “Fine. Talk. _Talk_ to me, Annie. Tell me what in Hel that was?!” he gestures angrily at my dresser. “Tell me why you would rather slice your arms to shreds than come to me? Why? _Why?”_

I’m crying again as I raise the notebook, shoving it forward desperately. Loki swipes at it viciously, smacking it from my grip to fall to the floor, its pages waving almost comically like they’re mocking me; mocking my helplessness.

 _“No,_ dammit! _Talk_ to me!”

My chin trembles violently. I can feel it. Everything inside me is about to come spewing out. All the ugly, all the vile, it wants to erupt from me with the force of a tsunami. And I want to let it because it’s what Loki wants. I want him to stop being angry with me. I want to stop being afraid. But I’m scared that if I let it all out it will level me. And worse than that, that it will level _him._

It takes me several tries before I can open my mouth. His eyes bore into mine furious, glowing, and desperate.

“You said you didn’t care if I never talked to you.” It comes out tiny; a whisper, a mouse’s squeak. But it’s there, it’s aloud, it’s audible.

Relief washes over Loki’s face for a split second, and his eyes close with it. When they open, they are cool and distant, his face smoothing into an impassive mask. “Well, you did talk. And then you begin to hack your arms into pieces. So things appear to have changed.”

Something in me snaps in the face of his hostility, in the face of this; his mask, which he wears around others but has _never_ worn with me! “I just wanted it to _stop!”_ I cry out, now getting louder myself.

“Wanted _what_ to stop?”

“Feeling like this. I can’t keep being afraid. Afraid of everything. Afraid of being awake. Afraid of going to sleep. Afraid of being alive, of being dead, of being alive technically, but dead inside. I’m afraid of how you make me feel, how you’re changing me; making me better. But I’m also afraid of going back to how I used to be before you. I’m afraid of losing myself in you, and I’m afraid of losing _you,_ goddammit. I almost lost you!”

“Annie… Norns…” he’s on me in a second, folding me in his arms, but for the first time I resist his embrace, struggling and shoving against the solid wall of his chest. He holds on though, whispering like he always does: “It’s alright. Shh, love, it’s alright.”

“Stop _saying_ that! What part of this is alright? Watching that fucker torture you? Watching him get ready to kill you? Almost having to watch you get stabbed right after? Is that _alright?_ Or is it the fact that I can barely hold myself together? That I need to squeeze my fists to the point of breaking apart my own skin bag to even have some semblance of control? Or that I’m so broken and _ruined_ that it feels good to slice myself up, because at least it stops the screaming inside my head?!” My voice keeps rising in both volume and pitch.

“Is that what you think?” he asks, his voice, in contrast to mine, is getting lower and quieter. “That what was done to you ruined you?”

“No.” I spit. “I did!”

“That is preposterous!”

“You don’t know shit… you don’t…”

 _“NO!”_ he interrupts me, shouting again. “No, I do not know _shit,_ because you refuse to tell me. You force me to fumble and grope along in the dark, hoping desperately that I will not mess up and put that look on your face, that look like you are being _burned alive;_ like _I_ am burning you alive, and I never know what it was I did wrong, because you will not _tell_ me!”

“Fine!” I scream, hugging my arms around my middle so I don’t fly apart completely, because everything is shaking loose now. “I _am_ ruined. And I _did_ do it to myself. Because he _raped_ me. My own _brother raped_ me. First him, and then four others. And I just _let_ them. I just _laid_ there while they did their thing and I _let_ _them._ I didn’t make a single sound while they were _raping me!_ And afterwards no one believed me! Is _that_ what you wanted to hear?!”

He recoils, horror splashed across his handsome features, followed immediately by pain. He looks ill. His eyes close and he breathes in and out forcefully a few times, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

He starts toward me, reaching for me but I swing out wildly at him. “Don’t touch me!”

He stops, holding his hands up palms out in surrender. His eyes are pits of sorrow as he watches me, measuring me, giving me space. “What screaming?” He asks. “You said it made the screaming stop. What screaming?”

I deflate like a balloon, all the anger draining out of me in one fell swoop, leaving me swaying, exhausted, on my feet. “Yours.” I answer dully.

He jerks back in surprise, eyes wide.

“I heard you screaming that night, in my head. I wasn’t totally sure it was you, until that first time you woke up from a nightmare. All the sounds I didn’t make that night you made for me. I just laid there as it happened singing _Here Comes the Sun_ in my head, and listened to you expressing what I couldn’t.”

He’s blinking wildly, swallowing repeatedly. He says nothing, just stares at me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he’s not looking at me like I’m crazy. He doesn’t say that what I’ve described isn’t physically possible. And because I asked him not to, he doesn’t touch me. And it feels wrong. It feels horribly, gut churning-ly wrong not to have him touch me when I need him so much.

“So you see? You can’t save me. You already did, but now there’s nothing left to save.”

He shakes his head. “No. No, I did not save you. You did. You did what you needed to do to survive, and as much as I hate what was done to you, I would much rather that than you being dead right now because of it. You did what you needed to do to survive! You saved yourself, and the only reason there is nothing left to save is because you already saved it all.”

I swallow hard, tears streaming hotly down my face. “Loki…” I choke out.

“I am right here.”

But he’s too far away. Too far. “I…”

“Just ask, Annie.”

“Hold me.” I don’t ask; I tell him to.

He’s there immediately, folding me into his arms, strong and sure, as he does what I said.

“I love you!” I whisper into his chest. “ I love you so much.”

“Shh, darling, shh. I love you too. I love you, my brave little warrior.”

I cry into his chest as I hold onto him until, very gently, Loki puts me away from him. “Will you let me bandage those up for you?” he asks, indicating the cuts.

I nod, suddenly unbearably ashamed of what I did. I look away, no longer able to meet his eyes. How can he think me brave? How can he think me strong and worthy of his own courage and strength?

He reads my mind. “Love, look at me.” When I don’t his large hand cups my chin, my tears dripping into the palm of his hand. “This does not make you weak. It doesn't. But, darling, listen to me. Sometimes it is alright to admit that you are _not_ alright.”

I sniffle and shrug, but I hear what he’s saying. I do! He reaches up and kisses my forehead, then leads me over to my bed, sitting me down on the edge. He retrieves his first aid kit and kneels down in front of me. He pulls my lacerated arm closer, balancing it, palm up, on my knee. Carefully he takes alcohol wipes from the kit and begins to wipe away the dried blood.

I hiss in pain as the disinfectant stings.

He looks down at his work, focusing way to hard. “I hate that you did this.” He says softly, without a note of accusation or blame in his voice, though I can hear that his teeth are gritted.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“Why did you do it?”

“You said it made things better.”

“I lied.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He stills, looking down at the pink stained alcohol swabs in his hands. “No, I didn’t. But I also did not tell you the whole truth. I did not tell you that it makes it better, but only for a moment, and then everything becomes so much worse. So much more so, every time thereafter that you do it…”

“I wanted what you had.”

“I had nothing!”

“Neither did I.”

He looks up at me then. “You had me.”

I shake my head. “Not in that moment. I was thinking; overthinking, about if I’d lost you. Thinking that I wasn’t good enough for you, that you should just leave and not be bothered with me anymore, that if I really loved you I’d let you go, because being with me is a train wreck waiting to happen, and sooner or later I’m gonna take you down with me.”

He shakes his head. “I heard you too.” He says suddenly.

I frown, confused.

He looks up at me, pausing with half a roll of gauze wrapped around my arm. “I heard you singing.” He says softly. “That song. I, as well, did not truly realize that it was your voice until the day I heard you humming the melody. Then you played the song for me and I _knew._ It was the last day Thanos tortured me; the last day I had my free will. The next day he located the Mind Stone, and his first act with that was to subjugate me. But even as I lost my free will, I would still hear you inside my head, remembering that song in that sweet voice, and whenever I thought about it, I would regain some measure of control. It was what enabled me to resist Thanos and the Mind Stone enough to orchestrate the little rebellion that incited the Avengers, and ultimately caused my defeat and the failure of Thanos’ plans for Midgard.”

I stare at him. How is this possible?

“I do not know how it is even possible.” He says, echoing my thoughts, and returning to wrap my arm in gauze. “I cannot explain the phenomenon, but it happened, and it appears to have helped us both. And for that I am endlessly grateful!” He finishes wrapping a bandage around my arm to hold the gauze in place, then lifts it by the wrist, and places a careful kiss right over the now concealed cuts. “And I am endlessly grateful for you.”

I sniff and nod wildly. “Me too!”

Loki climbs back into bed, pulling me close and cradling me against his chest. “Perhaps we are both ruined.” He says softly into my hair. “But perhaps we are also both more whole and complete now than we have ever been.”

I can only nod. Because he is right!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yea...  
> I dont know if I feel that Loki is out of character for this... He's not usually the kind to lose control but the way I saw it is that he blames himself, he panicked, he loves her and hes scared for her. And hes also just been through another trauma of his own. He also thought he was gonna die and watch annie get murdered in front of him. Hes bound to be feeling just as raw and vulnerable and scared and lost as she is. And he thinks he needs to keep it all together to be strong for her so when it gets too much he just... snaps and everything comes spilling out. I see that happening for both of them, they're not really pissed off at each other but they're both the only ones there to take the other's flood of emotions and so in a way they kind of let it out and take it out on each other. Which isnt necessarily right or a good, healthy thing to do to your partner but they're not perfect.  
> I'm rambling.  
> I hope everyone's okay after that chapter. It was hard to write because I based a lot of Annie's thoughts before during and after she hurt herself on my own experiences back when I was still in a dark place. So it triggered me as well to write it.  
> I'd really appreciate any feedback on this chapter mostly because I'm so sure about a lot of things in it. I do like it overall and I feel like everything in it needed to happen at some point. I just cant decide whether that should have been now, or whether it all should have happened at the same time...  
> K, I'm done babbling.  
> Take care of yourself, lovelies!!! 🧣💝🐶🐱🌻🍓🥪🍩🧁☕🍷🧸☀️🎧🕯🛁 (those are my take care of yourself emojis. Ya like?)


	33. Shit Hits the Fan From Loki's Point of View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as the title suggests this chapter is somewhat different... Basically it's the last chapter again, but this time from Loki's POV. More on that in a sec.  
> first TRIGGER WARNINGS: obviously they are similar to the last chapter. Cutting, descriptions thereof and the feelings around it. Angst, fear, anger, yelling, despair, the aftermath of torture. Smut... Same as yesterday essentially so I urge you to use the same levels of caution. Stay safe!  
> So the inspiration for this chapter came to me in the form of a comment at precisely 12:33am last night. So what do I do? I write the thing. Did it take me until 6 in the morning? Maybe. Did I go completely overboard and make this a monster of a chapter about three times as long as my usual ones? Maybe. Did my dog decide to wake me up after only 3 hours of sleep by sitting on me? MAYBE! Do I regret writing this thing into the wee hours of the morning? No!!! Because I actually really like this chapter. It made for an interesting and different writing experience and I think it's the same for reading. I'd always planned to put some Loki POV in here somewhere but I thought I'd save it til the end. Well, certain wonderful people had different ideas. I hope I nailed Loki, (ha. I wish!) cause he's hard to write from his perspective. He makes my writing tone a lot more formal and distinguished...  
> Okay I'm done rambling. Mostly. I know this is a bit different and I'm sorry if you were expecting and anticipating the continuation of the story; you'll have to wait til tomorrow... This chapter is dedicated to the amazing Jualiet (I'm a newbie here; how do you tag somebody? CAN you tag somebody?) This person's insightful comment at 12:30 in the morning inspired a writing frenzy that resulted in one of my personal favourite chapters for this work. I thank you sincerely!  
> Onwards.

Something is wrong. I can feel it within the marrow of my bones; within the blood that pounds through my veins. Sleep lies heavy atop me, like a blanket weighed down with leaden pellets. My mind is foggy; something is holding me down, attempting to force me to stay asleep. It reminds me curiously of a potion my mother used to brew for Thor and I when we were children, that she would administer to us when we felt sickly and she deemed us in need of bedrest. Of course we were too rambunctious to stay within our beds long, especially when the other was well enough to be out and about. Only this potion, made in large part from ground up sporyllis roots, would keep us in our beds. It made our bodies heavy, our eyelids like stone; its cloying sweetness made our tongues fuzzy until we finally slipped into a dreamless sleep that most always was enough to cure us of whatever ailed us by the time we woke

It feels like this now, as if I am attempting to fight my way out from beneath the potion’s drugging influence, upward through a thick quagmire of sleep. My muddled brain remembers the pills that Annie administered to me on the orders of the doctor who turns into a beast. The tablets to ease the pain. Perhaps they have the same effects as the sporyllis root?

I cannot shake the feeling of dread, that something is terribly amiss, and so I continue to wrestle with the weight that attempts to pull me back down into oblivion.

My mind registers suddenly that my arms miss the familiar warm, small, soft weight of Annie in their midst. I can tell, even with my inhibited senses, that it is still night time; still dark outside. Where would she be? Why is she not here?

I redouble my efforts to shake off this dastardly heavy cloak of unconsciousness, knowing somehow, without quite knowing how, that whatever is wrong pertains in some way to my little love.

It takes more effort than the time I fought the 12 foot tall monster made entirely of granite boulders, but I manage to peel my eyes open. They are gummed together by the residues of exhausted sleep and I have to blink a few times before I am able to make sense of what they see.

When it registers I feel my heart freeze in my breast.

Annie kneels on the carpet mere meters from me. She is not looking my way; is entirely focused on the scene of horror she is in the midst of playing out. Her small, shapely body is bowed over forward, her lips are parted on heavy pants, her eyes affixed with eerie, unwavering focus on her own left arm. On it I see with a thrill of utter fear a series of varyingly deep cuts that ooze blood in slow trickles, which spiral down her pale skin to drip into the carpet beneath her knees. My eyes snap to her other hand to see the tool she used to commit the act. My tool. The lid of the perishable food can in which I was served the most revolting concoction of mashed peas in the early days of my imprisonment, and which I saved to relieve some of the darkness inside, in much the same way it appears Annie has just tried to do.

Guilt strikes me through my black, black heart.

“Annie, love…” My voice shakes as a leaf does in a stiff wind. “Put that down.”

Her head snaps around to look at me. Her beautiful smoky grey eyes, clear as water, are huge in her pale little face. Those eyes; those eyes that say so much to me, that she allows me to read even when her lips don’t speak to me, or her hands don’t say what she wants to say… those eyes are filled with pain, confusion, and fear.

I launch from her bed, my intent singular in its narrow mindedness: get the weapon away from her! I slide along the carpet, feeling the rough fibres abrade my knees which are laid bare by the little shorts she had given me to sleep in. I do not feel the discomfort. I used too much speed and strength in my advance and as a result I collide with her. Without preamble I wrench the shard of metal from her grasp and squeeze it savagely in my hand. I do not think beyond the need to destroy it, to take its dangerous, ragged-edged sharpness out of existence forever. It crumples into powder between my fingers.

I have not used this much of my strength in months. I have been careful, always. It would be too easy for me to accidentally hurt Annie. It is one of the many limitations that comes with her humanity; that cursed but at the same time blessed fragility. I could reach out meaning to cup her chin and quite accidentally wind up crushing her jaw instead. This salient and sobering fact forces me to be more careful with her than I have ever had to be with anything in my life. It is an indescribable feeling, the trust she puts in me not to hurt her, even though I do not think she fully realizes how much danger she truly is in with me…

Though I doubt it would deter her even if she knew.

“Annie! _Fuck!”_ I employ a word I learned from her, that is not in the Asgardian vernacular. But it seems as fitting a word as any to emote the riot of feelings that course through me. I reach out, grab her by her trembling shoulders, and smash her against my chest hard enough to feel the breath leave her.

 _“Damn_ it.” Another phrase I’d picked up from her.

My thoughts somersault through my brain. What was she doing? What was she thinking? Why was she searching through my possessions? This was my fault! If I had not that one time told her about how it felt when I harmed myself then the idea would never have implanted itself in her brain to be remembered at a time she felt particularly emotionally vulnerable.

I shove her back from me needing to see her face, to ascertain myself that she is not in imminent danger from blood loss, or perhaps possessed by nightmares or the literal reincarnations of the demons from her past. Her hair clings to her forehead, stuck there as if with glue, by the sweat that beads her brow. I push it back so I can meet her eyes. They are wide, clouded still with pain and regret and something else that I cannot identify, but they are clear, and they are hers.

I become aware that my grip on the wrist of her injured arm is too tight, the bones within grinding together, and I loosen my fingers slightly though I keep the arm raised to slow the flow of blood. I can tell that at a glance, though deeper than mine used to be, the lacerations are not life threatening.

An emotion as I have never felt before in all the years I have been alive washes over me. It is a mixture of anger, fear, desperation, and a need to understand her; this creature before me who I know better than any other being in the universe, yet who I do not understand at all. “What?” I shout shaking her, seeing the shock that crosses her face at my raised voice. I have never raised it to her before, and I know somewhere within the deepest recesses of my mind that it is wrong to be doing so now, that she is emotionally vulnerable at the moment, but By the Nine, so am I, and I cannot take this! “Tell me! Tell me what is so bad that you would wake up at night and do _this_ to yourself instead of walking the three steps over to that bed and waking me. Tell. Me!”

She rattles back and forth within my grip like a ragdoll. I watch in slow motion as the tears rise in her eyes then spill over. It guts me as it always does; her crying. I cannot bear her pain, know that she has been through more than any being, human or otherwise, should be made to handle, and it tears me apart anew with every tear she spills that I cannot take the burden of her pain from her.

I watch as her mouth opens and closes and something flares within me. Why can she not just _talk_ to me. I need her to. I do not know how to do this. I am wandering in the dark attempting all the time to shoot into the void hoping that I do not harm her further, but always somehow feeling like I do.

My control is slipping. I feel it. It is as if the rope that keeps me tethered; that chain that was wound around me by my father and mother all throughout my childhood, telling me to _control it, Loki, a prince does not act so rashly, Loki, you must keep your emotions in check, Loki_ ; that chain is breaking link by link. I cannot let it break. Not with her. I need her trust too much! She is the only one who ever trusted me like this, with every part of her. I cannot jeopardize that.

The fury leaves me in one fell swoop. Shame washes in like a tide on its heels. How could I have lost control like that? Too much hangs in the balance here. Her heart. Mine. I cannot mess this up as I do with so much else in my life; some may argue with everything else. “Annie, love. Norns. Please. Just _talk_ to me.”

Suddenly she is airborne. I blame my still muddled, exhausted, and drug addled brain for slowing my reflexes and not having me see her coming until she collides with me. Her weight against my chest overbalances me and sends me tipping backwards. I land on my back unable to stop the pained exhale that slips loose between my gritted teeth as the impact with the ground makes all the injuries within and without flare up in a flash of white hot agony.

I immediately see the guilt in her eyes, as she realizes she has caused me pain. I am no stranger to pain, love, I want to say. Physical pain was my life for seven long years. But this, this emotional pain that went tearing through my heart when I witnessed the physical manifestation of her pain in the blood on her arm; that is indescribable…

All by themselves my hands do that which they have become so accustomed and good at; they pet and soothe her, attempting to wipe away the hurt she feels through my touch, which, Bor knows why, seems to actually help her. I feel the gritty texture of her matted hair, still filthy with the dust from the collapsed building between my fingers. The skin of her cheek is slippery with her tears. Don’t cry for me, my love. I do not deserve those tears of yours. “I’m alright.” I whisper; anything to stop these tears which I am once again the cause of. “It’s alright.”

Her head shakes wildly and I wish, not for the first time that I was in possession of my full magical prowess so that I could read the thoughts in her mind as if she were a book open for my perusal. But then I think, also not for the first time, that I would never do so. Not to her. I respect her too much to invade her privacy in this way. She’s already had so much taken from her without her consent. I will not take the freedom and privacy of her own thoughts from her in the same way.

Her arms band around me. Her lips find mine.

I freeze. I must truly be out of it because I can sense none of the moves she makes tonight when normally I always anticipate with deadly accuracy what she plans to do, before even she consciously knows. It takes a moment too long for me to respond to her. I am helpless as I always am against this magnetic force she has that pulls me to her. And so I kiss her back with urgency, tasting the salt of her tears on my lips. Perhaps the tears are even my own. I do not know; I can no longer tell. My brain is short circuiting with the riot of emotions it is experiencing.

I lift her up, maneuvering her easily until we are both on our knees. My tongue demands entry to her mouth, glorying in the honey of her taste, sweeter than the sweetest nectar, indescribable in the power it has over me. She can drive me to my knees with but a look. And she does. Every day; each time I see her. She is my salvation, all that holds me to sanity and to myself.

I am rough; too rough, I know it. I can feel the blood rush to her lips, know that I am leaving them swollen and sub-dermally bruised but I cannot stop myself; control myself. I need her! And she needs me just as much, and that fact ratchets up my own need for her even more.

“Loki,”

The word slips from her lips between my own. She says my name so carefully, with such gentle reverence as if she were cradling it in her mouth to let it roll like a pearl off her tongue onto mine, cut off by the sharp consonant and a slightly questioning upswing of the _i_. My name in her voice sounds like music; the sweetest prose and I cannot deny that the way she says it makes my heart flutter and my manhood twitch.

I pull away from her to stare at her face, ascertaining myself that I did not simply imagine her speaking. Her eyes blink at me, simultaneously so unsure and yet so very, very sure.

I close the distance between us again, cradling her dear, dear little face between my palms. And suddenly I am back in control; am again able to be as gentle as she deserves to be handled. She is a treasure; _my_ treasure and I will be damned to the deepest recesses of Hel if I do not treat her thusly.

I cannot deny the carnal urges she has evoked in me either, and one of my hands slides down the curve of her spine until it rests on her supple backside. I knead the lush flesh with my fingers inadvertently pulling her flush against me. The softness of her little body against the throbbing hardness of my own makes me groan. She swallows the sound, her hands forming into claws where they grip my shoulders.

My hand seems to take on a life of its own as it wanders back up her spine, feeling the bumps of her vertebrae piled up like marbles beneath her skin. I caress her shoulder blades, the place where I have often imagined wings would sprout from when I saw them move beneath the thin cotton of her shirts. She is my angel so it would seem only fitting to imagine her winged and celestial. My hand slides back down along the path it came, then travels around to her front. I feel her abdominal muscles tighten as my hand lays itself over her stomach. Her waist is small though her hips are abundant in proportions to her tiny body, and my large hand easily spans from one side of her lower torso to the other. As if drawn by a magnet my fingers continue to traverse upwards, bumping over her ribs until my fingertips graze the soft fabric of her brassiere. When I encounter no adverse reaction from her, my fingers slip inside the strange contraption that cups her breast. I move the obstructing fabric out of the way, letting my fingers explore the voluptuous little mound it once encased.

I very lightly pinch and roll her nipple, feeling the gasp she lets out reverberate through my very soul.

“More…” she whispers, the sound of her voice twanging at my heart strings. When I feel her fingers on my lower stomach my breath stutters. Her touch is cold, though I do not know whether that is due to her nerves, or to the fact that I am about to combust spontaneously with the heat of this moment. Frost Giant indeed!

When her slim fingers find and grasp my rigid manhood, any semblance of control I’d managed to retain flies from the room. I regain it moments later knowing that I need to, else I run the risk of frightening her off. But I lost precious seconds because all of a sudden she is on her back beneath me and I have no memory of putting her there.

Her shirt is gone and her top half is bare to my gaze. I pause, ogling her excessively. She is exquisite. A fairy; a nymph. Her body is a wonder, all curves and dips, rises, peaks, and valleys that I want to explore at the earliest convenience with my eyes; my hands; my lips; my tongue. For the moment I restrain myself to my eyes, as I drink her in as a man dying of thirst in the desert would do to the lake of sparkling cool water. “So beautiful!” I whisper as I find myself quite unable to keep my hands off her, and trace one finger up between her breasts and over the swallows wings of her clavicles.

 _“Please…”_ she whispers her voice inundated with that selfsame need that is at the moment igniting my very bones.

It is all I need; that one tiny word of permission. My natural born gifts allow me to determine that she is not lying in her desire for me, and so I give her what she begs me for, discarding that last little scrap of cloth that separates her from me. I lay myself out, stretching my body atop hers. We have been in similar positions before but never have we been so close; never has she been bare beneath me.

I check her conviction again, meeting her eyes, searching for any signs of doubt, of a shaking in her resolve. I find none. Instead she grips me tighter, her body curving upwards against mine, seeking closeness and whining pitifully when I pull away.

My fingers find the scorching warmth of her center. She is slick with her desire and the thought that she could feel this way, and about me no less, eclipses all, even my own throbbing desire for her.

I slide one finger inside her, immediately feeling her inner muscles tighten around my intruding digit. I watch her closely and when I still see no indications of negative emotions I use my palm, leveraging it to spread her wider and ease the pressure of my finger’s entry into her body.

She squirms deliciously on my hand.

I use my thumb to coax the little sensitive button of nerves from its hiding spot, rubbing it in slow circular motions until I feel her body tightening like a bow. I can not take my eyes of her. She is utterly exquisite in her need for me.

Everything uncoils as she releases in a wildly moaning rush. Masculine triumph flares in my chest as I watch her face flush with pleasure. It is almost enough to send me over my own edge; seeing this effect I so miraculously have on her.

My hands again act without my mind’s volition as I divest myself of the clothes she has lent me. I slither back atop her, feeling that her body now burns even hotter than mine. “Annie,” I breathe her name without conscious thought. Norns, I need her!

I settle myself in between her thighs which have fallen open to accommodate me. Here I pause, knowing that I need to make sure that she knows what is happening. I can not; will not, take advantage of her lustful state. I need her with me every step of this way. I must know that she is aware of what is happening, what it is I mean to do; and it is crucial that she want it just as much as I do. I will not hurt her in the way she has so obviously been hurt before. I may be a monster but I would never act so monstrously to anyone, least of all the woman I love with my entire being!

“Annie?” I call to her, the cadence and soft command in my voice urging her to open her eyes.

They do. Those clear, clear eyes, silver as _Gråm_ used to be before Odin shattered it in my hand. They posses the same power as my magical truth sword too; able to make me spill my deepest, innermost thoughts and secrets without even a thought of employing my usual tactics of manipulation and deceit to avoid outright honesty. And as I felt with the sword, I often feel with her; as if I am not truly worthy of the right of possession granted me.

But now I see the knowledge in her eyes. She has realised that I have already speculated about this thing; this happenstance from her past that pulls her away from me even as it drives her into my arms. I can see the understanding and it confirms without a doubt my suspicions. The anger and grief at what she was forced to endure burn through me, but the flames of this rage are extinguished, at least for the moment, when she nods at me.

I wait. I restrain myself for the longest ten seconds of my entire existence as I measure the truth behind her action. Is she only saying yes because she thinks I want this? But those eyes of crystal meet mine with such a resolve that any and all doubt I may posses is eradicated. She wants me too. As difficult and unfathomable as this is for me to believe; but she wants me too, the same way I want her.

I slip one arm beneath her, lifting her hips, elevating her to the perfect angle. The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt her!

But I am surprised at how easy my initial entry into her body is. She welcomes me in, her heat feeling like a vice, pleasure to the very knife’s edge of pain spiking through me.

I pull out of her, then slip back in. She is so snug, so utterly blissfully heaven-like, that it robs my breath. My face drops into her hair and I whisper against her skin, unable to resist as I do so, the urge to let my tongue snake little nibbles and tastes of her sweet skin, “Are you alright?”

I feel her nod tentatively. Doubt sows its seeds in my heart, making her movement not shy, but pained. I draw back to see her face, needing to ascertain myself that she is not in any discomfort.

“Is this alright?” I repeat myself, letting my eyes roam her face, employing all my finely tuned, though still drug dulled senses to suss out any possibility of a mistruth she might tell to appease me. But there is no shimmer of cold sweat on her upper lip, no rapid increase in her heart’s beats. Her eyes do not flicker uncertainly, nor does she fidget in a nervous way.

She surprises me greatly when she not only nods but also speaks her blessing aloud. _“Yes!”_

It undoes me, this final incredible show of the trust she has in me. She was broken apart so violently and she trusts me to not break apart again the pieces she has so painstakingly puzzled back together.

My love for her drowns itself in utter desperation, and my hips lunge wildly against hers again and again, feeling how her inner muscles grip onto me, how her body shudders and shakes, and her nails rake across my back.

My control is slipping again, but this time it does not make me furious with myself; it does not evoke within me the need to punish myself for the slip. This time it is something good; something somehow necessary. It is a build up of tension that is about to release and I realize quite suddenly as I have never consciously realized before, how long I have waited for her; this extraordinary human woman who in the span of a few short weeks has changed my entire outlook on not just humanity, but also on life itself. On _me!_

I brace my weight on one arm, slipping the other one between our sweat soaked bodies until I once more find that little epicenter of pleasure on her body.

Her eyes are closed as her head whips side to side, caught in the thralls of sexual gratification.

“Look at me,” I murmur with gentle command, needing those eyes on me; needing to see her fall apart.

She does not obey and it calls to some long buried regal part of me that was once accustomed to always being obeyed without question. “Dammit, _look at me!”_ I growl, the command that I had once wielded as easily as I wielded my daggers, making a resurgence in my voice.

Her eyes snap open in unconscious obedience to the kingly authority in my tone. I have but a moment to dwell on the fact that apparently the only way she will do as I ask without questioning and challenging me, is when I have her trapped in the throes of passion, then her legs close around my waist like a steel trap. I void the rule I’d just enforced on her and break the eye contacted I’d demanded of her by pushing my face into the crook of her neck. Her body tightens even further around me and I sink my teeth into the soft webbing of skin that connects her shoulder with her delicate neck.

My body pumps my release into her, as I feel her shuddering like an earthquake beneath me.

I open my eyes. My face is turned slightly away from her. Her left arm lies limply there, right in front of my eyes. I zone in immediately on the cuts. They are still gently oozing blood, though a lot of it has dried into crusty maroon tracks that flake off with the slightest movement. The areas around the broken skin are puffy, pink, and inflamed looking.

Seeing those cuts, that evidence of how I failed her, how I had inadvertently caused this, drives a sword through my chest. A single drop of blood that drips in slow motion onto the cream colored carpet, twists it.

This is my fault; my doing. I had not only told her about my own experiences with harming myself and how it had _helped_ me; I have also brought the very instrument I once used to do the deed into her domain; brought it within her reach. And then I had not been enough. Not enough for her to come to me… I thought I had her trust. Evidently I had not worked hard enough to deserve it even in the darkest of times. I had failed. Her. Myself. Mostly her.

Suddenly I cannot bear to be close to her; cannot handle the feel of her sweet skin against my own. Not because she repulses me, but because I repulse myself. I do not deserve to be touching a creature as pure and good as her. I have failed her and I should not be rewarded for that failure by being allowed to be so intimate with her.

I rise off her, stumbling to put distance between us, yanking the clothes she lent me back onto the proper places on my body. I lurch over to the window, bracing against the frame.

My whole body is a bed of agony. The bruises and scrapes flare up anew with my rapid movements, but it is the inside that hurts the most. I have let my guard down. I have let someone in and it was the best thing that has ever happened to me. And what has it brought? Pain. Not for me. But for _her!_ I have brought her pain. As I do every time I lose control. Again my parents' words echo through my brain. _You must always keep control, Loki. If you do not, then terrible things will happen!_ Well they were right! They have happened.

I can hear Annie shuffling around behind me. I refuse to turn around. I can practically feel the anguish and confusion pouring off her in waves. My heart constricts as I realize this devil’s triangle my selfishness has created. I lost my control and I hurt her. And now in order to regain my control I must hurt her further.

I see her from my peripheral attempting to approach me soundlessly. My own raw emotions, left rawer still by the memories of the previous day, and befuddled still by drugs, raises my temper; causes the anger I feel inside to skew wildly and redirect itself at her. I snap at her. “Do me the favour; if in future you feel the need to slice yourself up, at least refrain form using my property to do so. And perhaps even wait until I am not physically occupying the same space as you. Lessen my guilt even infinitesimally.”

I see her wince at the frigidity of my voice. I expect her to turn away from me, as all who I have ever attempted to push away with my temper have done before her. But I see the understanding in her eyes; the realization. She understands me as no one ever has; she knows that I am angry but that this anger is not for her even though it is being vented in her direction. She knows that my true wrath is at myself.

And she does not go. I see her scribbling in one of those blasted notebooks of hers. When she waves the thing in my face and my eyes fall on the words she has written, I cannot keep the snort of derisive laughter inside me.

_I’m sorry!_

Sorry, is she?! For what? For making me feel as if I can never measure up? For ripping herself to pieces on my watch. For refusing to let me into her silent little existence when all I ever wanted was to be there to her. For refusing to help me understand? What in Hel is she sorry for?

I shove away from the windowsill, my hands fisting in my hair as my head bows and my eyes squeeze closed. I cannot get a handle on these roiling emotions. It is always the same, always the cryptic messages, written in her lopsided, curly script. I never know what it is she wants, what it is she needs. I never know if what I’m doing, saying is right and I _need_ it to be right. She needs me to be right. She needs to trust me and all I have to go on are my instincts and guesswork. And I have no experience with humanity. I do have a lifetime of experience with making decisions in delicate situations but none have ever been with the welfare of a human woman in mind. And it is different. Dastardly so, especially with one who is simultaneously as strong and as fragile as Annie. My biggest fear is guessing wrong, seeing those moments when she shrinks from me in instinctive fear. Her fright is never deep; never visceral the way I have witnessed it being with others, but it chills me to my very core the thought that I might be as close as one wrong move away from garnering that very reaction from her too. And the thought of this occurrence actually occurring shatters me.

Against my will I feel tears rise in my eyes. I cannot let her see me cry; I know that this hurts her. It is one of the things that puts _that_ look on her face; the look that makes me feel about two inches tall and so unbearably inadequate.

When she pokes me with the corner of her notebook I turn away. She cannot see me cry, but I also do not want to see what she wrote. No, I want her to say it. I need her to speak. I am _tired_ of the guesswork. I need her to tell me what it is she needs and wants from me instead of writing riddles to me!

She smacks the notebook against my shoulder in an attempt to redraw my attention. My head swings around to face her.

I know the expression that is on my face; have seen gods and generals, even kings, quail beneath that stare. But not her. Not my little mortal. She squares her shoulders and straightens her spine in defiance to the rage that vibrates my very bones. A fierce surge of pride pulses through my veins.

“You want to talk?” I say my voice still raised several octaves above it’s natural volume. I am trying to goad her. “Fine. Talk. _Talk_ to me, Annie. Tell me what in Hel that was. Tell me why you would rather slice your arms to shreds than come to me. Why? _Why?”_ my voice keeps rising as my desperation mounts.

She pushes the notebook forward again and the pride morphs into more desperate anger. I swipe my hand out in a controlled swing, ripping the notebook from her grasp without actually striking, or even grazing her in any way. I watch as she flinches in surprise at the sudden movement, exactly calculated to be faster than a human can move, but still barely even half of the speed I can truly muster. Her flinch is one of instinct; not one of fear. She knows I would never lash out at her to deliberately hurt her. The knowledge settles something inside me.

The notebook hits the ground with a sharply satisfying smack. _“No,_ dammit! _T_ _alk_ to me!”

I can see the internal battle that wages within her. But then just as I am about to give up the hope that I have broken through, she speaks.

“You said you didn’t care if I never talked to you…”

Her voice is so tiny it is barely audible even to my advanced ears. But she spoke. To me. My eyes slide closed with relief. The next second the shame comes. She is right. I swore to her on numerous occasions that it mattered not to me whether she spoke or not. Have I pushed too much? Have I done, after all, what I swore I would never do? Have I forced her into something against her will?

My own frustration, fear, and shame at my rash actions and that they may have pushed her away, makes me curt; makes me hide behind my mask, something I have never felt the need to do with her. “Well, you did talk. And then you began to hack your arm into pieces. So things appear to have changed.”

I sense the change in her, can tell the second her own mood shifts from distress to indignation. “I just wanted it to _stop!”_ she shrieks her cheeks flushing with heated color as she glares daggers at me, her eyes condemning me for shutting her out.

Well, she shut me out first! When she chose a blade over me!

“Wanted _what_ to stop?”

“Feeling like this. I can’t keep being afraid. Afraid of everything. Afraid of being awake. Afraid of going to sleep. Afraid of being alive, of being dead, of being alive technically, but dead inside. I’m afraid of how you make me feel, how you’re changing me; making me better. But I’m also afraid of going back to how I used to be before you. I’m afraid of losing myself in you, and I’m afraid of losing _you,_ goddammit. I almost lost you!”

“Annie… Norns…” She guts me. With those few words, the most she has ever spoken aloud to me, she takes my heart into her thin little hands and cracks it right along its fault lines, then crushes the pieces into dust. I surge towards her, feeling that instinctive need to soothe the hurt. My arms fold around her but for the first time she struggles; fights against my embrace. “It's alright. Shh, love. It’s alright.” I clutch tighter to her twisting body, willing her to believe my words; willing myself to believe my words, but she fights. Her tiny fists pound against my chest, a wooden pilum against a meters thick stone palisade.

“Stop _saying_ that! What part of this is alright? Watching that fucker torture you? Watching him get ready to kill you? Almost having to watch you get stabbed right after? Is that _alright?_ Or is it the fact that I can barely hold myself together? That I need to squeeze my fists to the point of breaking apart my own skin bag to even have some semblance of control? Or that I’m so broken and _ruined_ that it feels good to slice myself up, because at least it stops the screaming inside my head?!”

Cold dread washes through me at her words. She cannot mean… She couldn’t possibly believe that what she says is true? How can she view herself as broken? By all the gods, if this is truly how she sees herself then she is even further regressed from the plane of healing than I had ever imagined! “Is that what you think? That what was done to you ruined you?” My voice wobbles; the only way I can control its shaking is by lowering the volume to an almost unperceivable human pitch.

“No. I did!” she snarls.

“That is preposterous.” My own temper is flaring up again. How can she believe this? How can she not know her strength? How can she not see her worth?

“You don’t know shit. You don’t-"

 _"NO!”_ I explode. How _dare_ she accuse me of not knowing. How dare she take the very thing I most fear, and throw it back in my face like this?! “No, I do not know _shit,_ because you refuse to tell me. You force me to fumble and grope along in the dark, hoping desperately that I will not mess up and put that look on your face, that look like you are being _burned alive;_ like **_I_** am burning you alive, and I never know what it was I did wrong, because you will not _tell_ me!”

Her arms wrap around her middle, hugging herself, and it hurts because I wish my arms could be the ones providing her that comfort, but she will not allow me.

“Fine!” she cries and her voice is at once jittery with nerves, yet steeled with some rock solid resolve. “I _am_ ruined. And I _did_ do it to myself. Because he _raped_ me. My own _brother raped_ me. First him, and then four others. And I just _let_ them. I just _laid_ there while they did their thing and I _let them._ I didn’t make a single sound while they were _raping me!_ And afterwards no one believed me! Is _that_ what you wanted to hear?!”

The horror that floods through my body at her words is indescribably. My gods… I had known; I had known deep within the recesses of my heart that this was what had happened to her. Rape! That most reprehensible of crimes. Worse even than murder because rape leaves the body alive, forced to relieve the ordeal to suffer it again and again through memories, as Annie is living proof of. I _knew_ it. I think I’d known it; suspected it at least, since the night she stumbled up before my cell, obviously distressed even past rational measure by a man’s unsolicited advances upon her. I had known her brother had been involved; she had entrusted the information to me. But I had assumed he had had some lesser, though still reprehensible part in the crime. Perhaps he had watched. Or simply refused to help her. I had never imagined that he had himself participated. And four others. Gods… An iron fist grips my stomach squeezing tightly. I feel as if I may vomit. I close my eyes taking several deep breaths. I want to kill her brother. That… what is the Midgardian phrase? That _son of a bitch!_ I want to rend him limb from limb. For her. But he is already dead. I recall her telling me this. And her father… he did not believe her. He chose to believe her brother, the _rapist_ over his own clearly traumatized daughter. Is the man blind? How could he not see? I saw it the first time she stumbled into the cellblock that morning, when she stared at me for barely five seconds and then ran away. I saw the shadows, knew she had been through Hel and back, like myself. She was naught but a mere human to my bigoted mind back then. But I was drawn to her; I recognized a kindred spirit. I’d pushed the thought away since clearly I had frightened her off. She would never return. But then she had come back…

I start towards her, needing her… needing to touch; to feel; to convince myself that she is real, that I did not just dream her because the loneliness of two years of isolated imprisonment had finally caught up to me. She cannot be real. This creature so light, so strong; yet so incredibly burdened and mangled; how can she be real? How can she be here, with me?

Her fists flail out wildly and I, in my precariously balanced state of mind, barely react in time to dodge them.

“Don’t touch me!”

I stop; do as she asks. I would never touch her against her will. Now more than ever, because I truly understand how devastating such a breach of trust is to her. I hold my hands out towards her. I want to give her space even as my own body screams for her proximity. But I need to ask her something. “What screaming? You said it made the screaming stop. What screaming?”

She slumps, all the fight leaving her little body in one go. She sways tiredly on her feet, looking somehow even smaller than before. “Yours…” she whispers and I’m so focused on catching her should she go down that I almost miss that single word.

I feel my eyes widen in shock. Is she saying..? No. No, that cannot be. How could it be possible?

She continues despite the obvious existential crisis I am presently experiencing. “I heard you screaming that night, in my head. I wasn’t totally sure it was you, until that first time you woke up from a nightmare. All the sounds I didn’t make that night you made for me. I just laid there as it happened singing _Here Comes the Sun_ in my head, and listened to you expressing what I couldn’t.”

She _is_ saying what I thought she was saying. But how..? They echo through my head as she says them; the words to that song, that song that she showed me. The words that kept me anchored, kept me strong. The words that let me look into Thanos' face day after day and tell him in ever decreasingly eloquent ways what he could do with his plans for me and my conquest of Midgard and where he could stick them. Those words, that even when I was subjugated, when I became a puppet to an almighty master, allowed me to break through the control enough to set in motion the joining of a band of misfits that maybe, just maybe with a great deal of dumb luck and spite, could hold the Titan at bay. Those words; her voice: my salvation.

She is still talking. “So you see? You can’t save me. You already did, but now there’s nothing left to save.”

She actually believes that. She truly cannot see the unbendable core of strength she possesses. “No. No, I did not save you. You did. You did what you needed to do to survive, and as much as I hate what was done to you, I would much rather that than you being dead right now because of it. You did what you needed to do to survive! You saved yourself, and the only reason there is nothing left to save is because you already saved it all.”

I can see my words smashing against that wall she has built. That armour she wears around the piece of her heart that believes so completely that what happened to her was her fault. And I can tell that, though my words have less of an impact than I might wish them to, they do make a dent in that previously undentable metal.

Tears cascade down her face, which is blotchy from the overload of emotions, as well as the bruises that are also my fault.

She hiccups my name.

“I am right here.” I invite, not daring to approach her when she forbid me earlier; afraid, as always, that I am reading her wrong, though my heart tells me I am not. Not this time.

She fidgets from one foot to the other, stammering.

“Just ask, Annie.” I say, needing to be absolutely certain.

“Hold me!”

It is not a request; it is an order, but never has my royal backside been so glad and accepting of another’s demand. I require no further prompting and immediately close the distance between us, folding her into my arms.

As soon as her plush, warm body melds against mine I feel several things within me click into place. This; this is right. Me and her. Like this. Together. No matter how much she scares me, confuses me, infuriates me. She also grounds me and keeps me sane. She makes me better!

“I love you!” she sobs against my sternum. “I love you so much!”

The words slip inside me like a tonic, warming every crevice of my naturally frozen body. "Shh, darling, shh. I love you, too. I love you, my brave little warrior.” The fact that she truly loves me; _me,_ is still so miraculous!

I keep holding her, drawing strength from her even as I know she draws it from me, until I can no longer ignore the ugly wounds on her arm that stare me right in the face. I gently ease her away from me. “Will you let me bandage those up for you?”

I see her close off. I know how she feels, that deep seated humiliation that gnaws at your insides when someone looks at the wounds whether they be fresh or scarred. I felt it when I first showed them to her. But she accepted me, she held me up, she did not make me feel like the shameful freak I was sure I was for doing such a thing to myself. She did not look at me with pity. She did not look at me with contempt. She took me for what I was at face value and she did not define me by my actions. And so naturally I will do the same for her.

“Love, look at me.” I tilt her trembling chin up. I can see it in her eyes, that old belief that she has, that tells her that she somehow does not measure up next to me, because I am a god, or from another realm, or something equally inane, when clearly it is _I_ who could never hope to compare to _her!_

“This does not make you weak. It doesn’t. But, darling, listen to me: sometimes it is alright to admit that you are _not_ alright!”

The most miraculous thing happens as I see the understanding of my words bloom in her rain grey eyes. I, myself internalize the words I am speaking to her. And I, myself for the first time forgive myself for what I did to my own body, which under Asgardian religion is seen as a desecration to the temple that is the self, and is therefore expressly forbidden. And I realize this incredible gift I have before me. I am not alright. At least not always. But here is someone I can speak to; someone who knows all of me, accepts all of me, and above all _believes me!_ In my wildest dreams I had never imagined finding anyone like that. And the best way I can show her that her actions of today do not make her weak or less than, is by leading by example!

I bend down and kiss her on the forehead, attempting to flood her little body with every ounce of the love and admiration I feel for her. Then I sit her down on her own bed and carefully begin to cleanse the wounds.

Revulsion rises again. Not at her, but at myself. I force it down.

She whimpers in pain as the alcohol sizzles its way through the broken skin.

“I hate that you did this…” I say softly, choosing this moment to begin with that honesty.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, her voice clogged with tears.

But this isn’t what I want. I neither want nor need her apologies. I want her honesty. Her truth. “Why did you do it?”

“You said it made things better.”

So it _was_ my fault! “I lied!” I say with my teeth clenched.

“No, you didn’t.”

I force myself to relax. She does not need more of my anger even when it is directed at myself. She needs my understanding, just like she once gave it to me. “No, I didn’t. But I also did not tell you the whole truth. I did not tell you that it makes it better, but only for a moment, and then everything becomes so much worse. So much more so, every time thereafter that you do it…” Honesty, love. I give it freely now. Please return it to me!

“I wanted what you had.”

“I had nothing!” This is true. I had nothing until she tripped into my life.

“Neither did I.”

I look up then, feeling a fissure of hurt. “You had me.”

Her head shakes slowly; thoughtfully. “Not in that moment. I was thinking; overthinking, about if I’d lost you. Thinking that I wasn’t good enough for you, that you should just leave and not be bothered with me anymore, that if I really loved you I’d let you go, because being with me is a train wreck waiting to happen, and sooner or later I’m gonna take you down with me.”

My heart squeezes. There it is. That honesty. Finally. I just did not anticipate how much it could hurt…

“I heard you too.” I say almost nonchalantly, needing her to understand as I do that there was always something between us; some connection, even though I cannot explain it.

I sense her beautiful eyes on me in confusion, and so I rally to explain the unexplainable. “I heard you singing. That song. I, as well, did not truly realize that it was your voice until the day I heard you humming the melody. Then you played the song for me and I knew. It was the last day Thanos tortured me; the last day I had my free will. The next day he located the Mind Stone, and his first act with that was to subjugate me. But even as I lost my free will, I would still hear you inside my head, remembering that song in that sweet voice, and whenever I thought about it, I would regain some measure of control. It was what enabled me to resist Thanos and the Mind Stone enough to orchestrate the little rebellion that incited the Avengers, and ultimately caused my defeat and the failure of Thanos’ plans for Midgard.”

That connection that so often allowed us to communicate without words still appears to be functional because I can hear her thoughts shouting at me: _How is this possible?_

I glance up at her confounded face, then back down at her arm which I am at present wrapping in a white linen cloth strip. “I do not know how it is even possible. I cannot explain the phenomenon, but it happened, and it appears to have helped us both. And for that I am endlessly grateful!”

On a whim, and because I remember how heart wrenchingly wonderful it felt when she once did the same for me, I lift her wrapped up arm and place my lips gently against the stiff, starchy fabric of the bandage. “And I am endlessly grateful for you!”

Her tearful reply of “Me too.” thrills me anew with the fact that it is actually spoken aloud. This truly is a new norm I could get very used to!

I allow her to help me back into her bed as my body is quite sore especially after all the excitement. As she curls up against my front I whisper one last axiom to her. “Perhaps we are both ruined. But perhaps we are also both more whole and complete now than we have ever been.”

Her sleepy nod as she drifts away from me is all I need to feel an infallible sense of peace take wing within my heart. I hold her warm, soft, body close against my own and I feel with every fiber of my being something I have never really felt before. I feel like I belong. Like I am home!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So theres that. This was really fun to write and it did kind of get away from me in length but I just found myself really wanting to elaborate on Loki's thoughts and feelings because we havent heard from him directly before. Also in my mind hes very descriptive and eloquent resulting in some rather lengthy inner diatribes.  
> In regards to the smut, I found it...  
> Interesting... to say the least to write a sexy scene from a male perspective. I've never done it before so I had to break into the archives. I actually read through parts of 50 shades of grey for it. I'm not a fan but my mother is... *cringe. So we have the entire collection on our kindle account including the rewrites from Christian's POV, which is what I read for this. Dont know how to feel about that. But i find it funny that i can read smutty scenes a lot more intense, especially in other fanfiction (*cough, Destiel, *cough) and not bat an eye. But when I'm the one writing them I get the urge to bathe in holy water or something. I AM A SINNER!!! Lol.  
> I dont know when I'll do this again, it wont become an every chapter occurence, but it was fun. Maybe for really pivotal chapters. I hope you liked it too and wont mind if I let Loki do the talking again some time. And again, sorry if you were hoping for the plot to further itself... Actully nah. You got aan almost 10 000 word chapter! My usual average is like 1500- 2000. Stop complaining! JK. I love you guys. You're the awesomest best. I will see you with updates tomorrow!  
> Feedback on this chapter is appreciated. Loki says you all had better react to his fabulous fable else you shall be made to suffer! Just kidding, he loves you too!
> 
> *from the background: "Suffer... you shall suffer! Mewling quims, so desperate. It is the unspoken truth of humanity that you crave this mortal scribe,'s written word. Your mad scramble for new chapters diminishes your life's purpose and- "
> 
> "Shut up, Loki, dont insult our readers!"
> 
> *fading into the distance: "Eternal damnation! Kneel!"
> 
> (🤣WTF is wrong with me? Sleep deprivation or what?!)


	34. Another Box of Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So back to our regularly scheduled programming.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: some mentions of self harm and regret about it. Blood. Also some angst.  
> This is mostly a collection of a whole bunch of random moments. I hope you like.

The next morning I wake up before Loki. I turn carefully in his arms, looking at him. He’s completely zonked out beside me, snoring softly. It’s so rare that I actually get to see him sleeping, and not having nightmares, and so I just stare, transfixed.

I can’t quite believe that after last night he didn’t just say _fuck it_ and walk away from me. I expected to feel a resurgence of the horrible feelings but I don’t. Instead I just feel peace. Peace and a little regret, especially when I look down at my wrapped up arm. A small rusty red spot blooms on one part of the white Ace bandage, just below the crook of my elbow. I swallow hard, then look away.

I need a distraction. Carefully so as not to jostle Loki I slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom. After taking care of business, I attempt to tug a comb through my nest of hair which is still completely matted with dust and debris. I give up pretty quickly. It’s gonna take some serious conditioner for me to get through that.

I look at my reflection wrinkling my nose at the ghoul that stares back at me. Whatever parts of my skin that aren’t bruised black and blue and purple are a grey tinged white. My eyes are sunken and my hair is an absolute mess. Think clown wig after the clown stuck his finger into an electrical socket. _What does he see in you?_ I silently demand of my reflection then lean around the door checking whether Loki is still sleeping.

He is.

My gaze falls to the carpet. Shame smacks me upside the head with a cast iron frying pan when I see the blood splatters. I feel tears rise in my eyes as I scramble for a washcloth. I wet it and squirt some soap onto it, then head out to begin attacking the spots on the off-white carpet.

My tears only rise as my frustration mounts when, instead of disappearing, the dark red spots only become vaguely lighter.

I throw the washcloth back through the open bathroom door and turn my back on the ruined carpet, fighting down my tears. My eyes fall instead on the box of Loki’s sparse belongings. It’s standings open beside my bed, the first aid pouch lying beside it.

I scoot closer to it, peering inside once more. I carefully take out the pages from my own notebooks and unfold them. The worn creases tell me that they’ve been unfolded and refolded many times, indicating that he’s read them over and over when I wasn’t there. My heart squeezes with love as I look up at Loki’s sleeping shape. He’s lying on his back, his face turned toward me.

I read over my written words, and even though I only have the one half of them, I remember each of the conversations we’d had and what made them significant enough for him to want to keep my pages.

I gingerly refold the papers and tuck them neatly back into the box. Then I take out the red piece of fabric. I have no idea what it is or why it is significant to Loki. Because clearly it is important and special to him otherwise he wouldn’t keep it in this box of all his few worldly belongings. It’s about the size of a handkerchief but the edges are ragged and frayed as if it’s a piece of fabric torn off a shirt or a bedsheet, or maybe a curtain.

I replace it and pick up the necklace. It is beautiful; glimmering blue stones in an intricate, finely crafted gold setting. I hold it up by the delicate chain. The sun strikes the sapphires casting blue sparkles of light onto the white walls. I reach up and very lightly give the charm a spin, watching enchanted as the lights start to dart around the room.

“It belonged to my mother.”

I startle, whipping around to see that Loki’s position on the bed is unchanged but his eyes are open. He smiles when my eyes meet his.

“I’m sorry…” I stammer. “I… I didn’t mean to pry through your personal things. Again.”

“Oh, hush, love. I do not mind. And given the fact that I am at the moment ensconced in the very middle of your personal domain I really do not think I would have much to complain about even if I did mind.”

I blink at him carefully. He smiles encouragingly sensing my questions, as he pushes himself up onto his side, wincing slightly in discomfort.

I hasten to give him three more painkiller tablets and sit back down in front of the box while he obediently swallows them down.

I hold up the amulet again even more careful with it now than I was before, knowing that it belongs to his mom. “What’s her name?” I ask quietly.

“My mother? Frigga.” He answers.

“Is she a god too? Or… goddess?”

“She is. The goddess of motherhood. And she verily lives up to the title.” He smiles sadly.

I study him, debating whether to ask him the next question. He meets my eyes and nods. Of course he knows what I want to ask.

“Will you go back when Thor comes back?”

He looks away. “It depends greatly on whether my father believes the story.”

“How could he not?!”

Loki shrugs. “He is obstinately stubborn.”

“But say he believes. Then will you go?”

His eyes return to mine. “Most likely.”

My heart constricts. “Oh.”

“I would like to see my mother again.”

“I’m sure she feels the same!” my voice shakes ever so slightly, though I try to hide it.

“And I would love to see you in traditional Asgardian garb.”

“Me?”

He tilts his head to the side. “That is if you would accompany me?”

My heart beats faster. “You want me to come with you?”

“Of course.”

My heart swells and takes flight, floating right out the window. “Really?”

He chuckles. “Unless you would rather stay here?”

I shake my head wildly. “I want to be wherever you are. But… would it be a visit? Or would we live there?”

“Whatever we desired. But, love, slow down. Odin must be convinced first, otherwise I shall only be imprisoned again.”

I swallow. I can’t imagine that his father won’t believe him, but then again I’m living proof that fathers don’t always believe their children even when the evidence of the truth is staring them right in the face.

To distract myself from these dark thoughts I pick up the red scrap of fabric. “What’s this?”

“A piece of my brother’s cape.”

I knew it was torn off something. And yes, now that he’s said that I recognize the rich scarlet color from the few times I’d seen Thor wearing his cape.

“Why do you keep it in here?”

Loki smiles. “It was a joke. When we were younger my brother always looked immaculate after battle. He rarely had to get his hands dirty since he could simply throw Mjolnir at oncoming foes. We used to jest about it especially after we returned home; him looking pristine without as much as a hair out of place, and me looking like something not even a cat would dare drag in. Then one day we were fighting and we came upon a young girl. Thor stooped down to help the child, clearly believing her to be in danger from the battle waging all over the castle. She sprang at his face, brandishing a dagger. She was a feral little thing, almost slashing him right through the eye. He managed to dive out of the way, and she instead sliced a piece off his cape. I quickly put her to sleep with magic and we continued to fight our way forward. This is that piece of cape. I kept it as a memento to the one time my brother came out of a fight looking slightly less than perfect, and because it pleased me to tease him with the fact that a tiny little child had been the one to manage that feat. I used to keep it on my person at all times.”

I grin as I look down at this piece of fabric which, I suddenly realise, has been _on another planet!_ That fact blows my mind, and I very cautiously replace it in the box.

“And this? Why do you have it?” I ask of his mother’s necklace.

“She gave it to me on one occasion when I had to infiltrate an enemy’s castle disguised as a woman. I had no women’s jewelry, so she lent it to me. I simply never gave it back. I did not know that she had placed a spell of protection on it until it had saved my life. It meant too much to me afterwards. And part of me always wondered; she has so much jewelry. Why did she chose this particular piece? Because of its color?”

“What do you mean?”

“It is the color of my skin in my natural form, though back then I did not know it yet. She did.”

“Your natural form?”

“Yes. I am adopted remember?”

“Yea. I know… I just… thought… you were human like… or no, not human… the… the same _species?_ Is that the right word? Species as your parents? You mean you’re not?”

He shakes his head. “Odin and Frigga are Asgardian. I am a Jötun.”

“So you’re not even from the same planet?”

“I am not.”

“Wow…” I go quiet, digesting this. Loki watches me, appearing to wait for something. There’s an air of tension around him.

“Can I see it?” I ask softly.

His eyes close as his jaw clenches.

I backpedal. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to. I just…”

He shakes his head and I fall silent. He reaches out one hand to me and I crawl up to him and take it in mine.

“It is not because I don’t want to show you, or because I don’t trust you, or whatever your sweet little mind is imagining.”

I smile slightly. He knows me too well. My mind is rapidly clicking through all those possibilities even as my faith and trust in him fights to dispel them.

“I do not want to frighten you. My true form is vaguely… intimidating…”

I shake my head. “I won’t be scared.”

He looks doubtful.

I extricate my hand front his and reach up to stroke his cheek instead. “It doesn’t matter to me what you look like. You could have green hair, seven legs, or snakes growing out of your head and it wouldn’t matter. You could be the one eyed, one horned, flying purple people eater and I wouldn’t care.”

“The _what?”_

“Doesn’t matter. Point is I know who you are. And how you are inside. I’m never gonna be scared of you!”

He looks undecided.

“Please…” I say softly. “if you don’t want to because you’re not ready then that’s okay. I understand. But if you’re only saying no because you think I’ll run away screaming then I promise I won’t.”

“Why do you want to see?” his voice is soft and vulnerable as he asks.

“I want to know every part of you. The good the bad and the ugly. Even though I won’t think it’s ugly.”

He looks at me for a long time, studying me. He’s still holding my hand, his thumb rubbing absent little circles over the back of it. Eventually he raises it up and presses my palm to his cheek, holding it there. “Close your eyes.”

I do as he says without hesitation. I hear him shifting around and then taking a deep breath. His hand drops away though I keep mine where it is.

When nothing happens I think he’s changed his mind about showing me, but then I notice something. I frown, keeping my eyes closed, and flex my fingers against his cheek. His skin is growing colder. At first I think it’s my imagination but then it becomes undeniable. It feels like I’m holding my hand against a block of ice.

My eyes are still closed though I dearly want to open them. But he asked me to close them and I won’t break his trust.

I hear him swallow heavily then he whispers, “Open your eyes, please, love. Whenever you are ready.”

I keep them closed for a few more seconds trying to prepare myself. I have no idea what to expect here, but I know I won’t be frightened or repulsed. This is Loki, and even if he looks like Mike Wazowski I won’t care. But the way he was talking, and his obvious dread and reluctance at showing me this, has me expecting the worst.

I open my eyes. And gasp aloud. He is blue. His skin is blue and shiny looking, like it’s not Loki lying here on this bed in front of me, but some pristine, ethereally beautiful ice sculpture hewn out of the deepest glacier. He’s also taller, not too much but still noticeably. Deep symmetrical grooves highlight his forehead, his aristocratic cheekbones, and his chin. Horns curve up from beneath his hair, which curls slightly around the new extremities protruding from his temples. His ears are pointed like an elf's. His eyes are closed.

“Wow…” I breathe letting my fingers travel upwards from his cheek to travel over the artsy ridges in his skin. I follow the lines they draw down, then back up over his forehead. I run my fingertip over each of the elegant swings of his eyebrows, then down the center of his face to the tip of his nose. From there I go down to his lips, lightly tracing the outline of them. They are as hard as the rest of his frozen flesh, though somehow softer… like ice encased in velvet. As my finger ghosts over them they part, cool breath puffing against my nails. With fascination I notice that his teeth are pointed.

His eyes are still closed.

I reach up with both hands taking his face between my palms, lightly letting my thumbs rest on the outside corners of each of his eyes, silently asking him to open them.

He swallows then does it, looking up at me from beneath his lashes.

My breath hitches. His eyes are red. Crimson, glowing like fiery embers; the only spot of color in the otherwise cool palette of his face.

I’m mesmerized by them. “You’re beautiful…” I breathe.

I feel a shudder go through him as his eyes close again momentarily. When he opens them they are surer, less lost, less afraid. They burn with something other than their vivid color now. Reassurance, I realize. He’s realized that I will not turn from him in disgust, will not run screaming in fright out of the room. And he has accepted that _I’ve_ accepted him. For all that he is.

“You’re also an idiot!” I say lightly, carefully touching one of the horns that spiral upwards toward the ceiling. I can’t get over these…

He frowns. “I am aware. But why specifically?”

I grin. “You had me thinkin' you’d look like Gollum or something. When in reality you look more like Legolas. Except blue. With horns.” I gently twirl a strand of the hair at the base of one of the horns around my finger.

“In my culture the Frost Giants are monsters.” He says looking over my shoulder.

“What? Why?”

“They have committed many reprehensible acts…”

“Ok. Well that makes them monsters for their actions. Not for their looks…”

He studies me. “Jötuns are the monsters that Asgardian parents tell their children about at night.” His eyes are sad and heavy and I realize that he really believes this. He probably grew up as one of those children who was told stories about these monsters at night. And then when he found out that he was one… How could he not believe himself to be the very embodiment of these stories? And at the same time, how could he?

God, every time I think he can’t possibly shatter my heart more for him he finds a way.

I push him very carefully to his back and then climb atop him, straddling his waist, even though I somehow fear my butt may freeze to him. I thread my fingers through his and hold his hands down beside his head, noticing as I do that his fingernails are black and tapered to sharp points. Claws. It gives me a moment’s pause... The sharp teeth, the claws; he’s clearly a predator. But that’s not the same thing as a monster!

“You are a beautiful, beautiful creature, Loki. Inside and out. You’ve been manipulated and twisted and hurt but none of that has made you bad. You are not a monster!”

He blinks up at me and those red eyes are wet, like I’m looking up at a fire from underwater.

“I don’t give a shit what anyone else says about you; you’re absolutely perfect and if anyone ever calls you a monster in my presence then I’ll show them what a real monster can do!”

He smiles. “You are utterly fearsome, my darling.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I would never dare to. I believe you entirely.”

“Good. ‘Cause that includes you. If I ever hear you calling yourself a monster again I’ll kick your snowy butt!”

He laughs, which is what I had hoped to accomplish. “Seriously though, I do not feel in any way afraid, or disgusted, or anything like that. And I didn’t, even in those first few seconds of seeing you. Surprised, yes. Awed. Maybe a little bit horny…”

One of his eyebrows rises.

“Oh, shut up.” I laugh.

“I said nothing.”

I smile. “You believe me, right? You know I’m not lying to you?”

His eyes flick down to my chest, listening to my heart, gauging the truth behind my words. He nods slowly. “I know…” he says, voice full of wonder.

“Good.”

A loud knock on my door startles me into looking up. It cracks open and Tony sticks his head in.

“Oh, geez. And here I thought I was done with seeing the two of you in compromising positions…”

I flush and quickly look back down at Loki only to see that he’s changed back into his human looking form. No blue, no horns, no red eyes. And he’s no longer cold. I clamber off him and sit on the side of the bed. “What’s up, Tony?”

He does a double take and nearly drops the little box he’s holding. “Whoa there, kiddo. Give a guy some warning.”

I smile, recognizing his teasing.

“I brought something for the Defenstrator General in Chief.”

Loki raises himself laboriously onto his elbows. “That is a new one.”

Tony grins. “I try.”

He approaches, opening the little box as he does. Inside is a tiny metallic object that he brandishes in Loki’s direction.

Loki’s infamous eyebrow arches high. “Truly?”

Tony becomes serious. “Your brother got back this morning.”

I see the flicker of unease that crosses Loki’s face before he schools it back into casual indifference. “So why is he not the one delivering the happy news?”

“Minor oversight on my part. He doesn’t know where you are. I’m about to go tell him, but I thought I’d bring you a present first.”

“So I take it Odin’s reaction was favourable?”

“I’ll let Pointbreak fill you in.” Tony says his face grim, betraying nothing. Damn, the man has an excellent poker face.

He motions impatiently to Loki who sits up and bows his head forward, presenting Tony the back of his neck. My eyes widen as I realize what the little metal object is. It’s the key to Loki’s collar!

I watch with round eyes as Tony inserts the key into a hidden spot in the back of the collar. There is the tiniest, quietest, most insignificant sounding little click, then the collar splits in two, the halves dropping down into Loki’s lap.

I watch Loki who’s eyes remain trained on the pieces of the collar that shackled him for so long. His hands lie in his lap, palms up and as I stare, they slowly begin to glow. A warm green light blooms in each of his palms, green sparks dancing on his fingertips.

I swallow hard as I see for the first time with my own eyes, this definitive, undeniable proof that Loki is not human. That he is magic. A creature not of earthly origin. Something above what Tony and I are…

Tony, for his part, looks on disinterested, but he has seen the evidence of Loki’s extraterrestrial-ism before. I can’t stop myself, I’m too enchanted and I reach out slowly, wanting to touch the magic.

Loki closes his fingers into fists, extinguishing the light and draws his hands back. “Careful, love.” He warns gently.

I look up at him. He smiles. “Not all magic is meant for human touch. That would have zapped you.”

Oh. I pull a face and retract my own hands, shoving them under my thighs.

Loki chuckles then raises one hand, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together until more green sparks fall onto my comforter. He holds his finger out towards me, the entire cusp and nail encased in more warm green light. I look at him questioningly and he nods. Slowly, a little apprehensively I reach out again until the tip of my finger touches the tip of Loki’s à la E.T.

The magic is warm. It tickles slightly. A smile breaks out across my face. I am touching magic. Actual magic! This is crazy. I love it!

I look up at Loki’s face which is soft and gentle as he watches me.

An awkward clearing of a throat reminds me of the fact that Tony is still there too. I look over at him to see him watching us with an inscrutable look on his face. I become aware suddenly that perhaps this is strange for him, not only seeing us interact like this, but also the way we are able to communicate so silently. Because Tony clearly isn’t used to silence the way Loki and I are. And even though I can technically speak again now, this silence between us is still familiar and comfortable. More so than actual verbal conversation.

“I’ll let the two of you enjoy your magic show. And I’m gonna go and find your brother, Copperfield, and send him here. That okay with you, kiddo?”

I nod slowly.

“Good. And just so you know, Mr. Grinch, you’re free to wander about the Compound now. Just do me a favour and take Annie with you. And please don’t murder anyone if they mouth off to you. I’d appreciate it.”

“Except perhaps the agent who attempted to stab me two nights ago?” Loki asks.

“Too much paperwork.”

“Perhaps just a little?”

Tony grins wryly. “No. No murder, Elphaba, but I’m sure you’ll think of something fitting anyway.”

Loki lies back, satisfied. “I’m sure I shall. My thanks, Stark.”

Tony looks surprised for a second at the gratitude, which although somewhat sarcastic, is still mostly sincere. “De nada, Shrek!”

I smile at the nickname which I can tell confuses Loki. Then because I feel suddenly overcome with a crazy surge of gratitude of my own towards the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist I stand up and hug him quickly.

I think I surprise him because when I draw away his eyes look shiny. I smile slightly.

“Make sure he doesn’t overdo it, kiddo. Bruce’s orders. And if either of you need anything let me know. K?”

I nod and Tony leaves.

I go back to my bed and curl up beside Loki. He’s not having it and pulls me closer, halfway on top of him. His arms are tight around me and even though it makes my bruises twinge I don’t complain.

“Are you scared?” I ask softly.

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “I do not know.”

“Surely Thor wouldn’t have been back so quickly if Odin didn’t believe you… Wouldn’t he have stayed behind to try to convince him.”

Loki shrugs. “It may be entirely possible that Odin only said he believed me, but once I am before him he will drop the proverbial hammer.”

“If he does that I’ll drop a _real_ hammer. On his foot!”

Loki laughs softly. “I do not doubt that you would.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

He sighs. “Let us wait to discuss this until we hear what my brother has to say.”

I nod, then burrow further into his chest.

“I have a question, love?”

“Mhm?”

“Who in _Hel_ is Shrek?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after all the speed and craziness of the last few chapters I feel like the story's slowing down and somehow it doesnt feel like a good thing. But I also know that it cant keep going at the pace it went for like the last 4ish chapters cause that would be insane. I guess I'm thinking that after all the action thats been happening this may now seem boring... but like, I know stories need to change pace... Bleh, I'm overthinking all this. These two deserve some peace!  
> And for anyone wondering why they didnt confront/talk about last night since a lot happened and they didnt really resolve much, I've forced upon them my own shitty trait of avoiding uncomfortable things and bottling stuff up. I feel like in their present situations that's entirely believable for them both to feel. But they will face it, and hopefully they'll be smart enough, and in a good enough place that they wont blow up at each other again...   
> But for now let there be tentative peace. And also magical Lokis!  
> If anyone has more ideas for nicknames Tony could call Loki I'm all ears. I particularly enjoyed Elphaba!


	35. Brotherly Love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS for mentions of self harm/cuts/scars. Some angst and bad memories.  
> Lots of fluff.  
> Also Thor. ⚡

I think I fall asleep because the next thing I consciously realize is that Loki is gently shaking me.

“Annie?” he says quietly stroking the hair out of my face and tucking it behind my ear.

I lift my head groggily and blink at him.

“There is someone at the door. I think it might be my brother.”

I yawn then roll off Loki and out of bed. I open the door and indeed come nose to chest with Thor’s broad torso. I tip my head back to look at his face which is smiling down at me kindly. Stepping back I wave him inside, pointing him to the only chair I have in the room.

I look between them. “Should I give you guys some privacy?”

Thor jumps slightly at the sound if my voice, though he masks his surprise well. Loki holds his hand out to me. “Please stay.”

It’s all the invitation I need, and I clamber back into my bed sitting down to lean my back against the wall, slinging my legs over Loki’s upper thighs. He props himself up a bit higher in the pillows and places one hand on my knee, then turns to his brother. “Thor.”

“Loki. I am so glad to see you alive and well, brother.”

Loki’s face is hard and inscrutable. “Are you?” he asks, voice frigid.

I pinch him out of sight where Thor can’t see. _Be nice!_ The action says.

Loki’s hand on my knee squeezes in response, then he sighs. “I heard you requested an audience with the King.” He says still cautious sounding, but more amendable than before.

Thor nods gravely. “I did.” He offers nothing else and I want to throw something at him. Are Asgardians always this damn dramatic?!

“The suspense is killing me, brother.” Loki says dryly.

“He wishes to see you.”

“Does he now? Why? To condemn me? Or to pardon me?”

“Desist with the sarcasm, Loki.”

“Why? You refuse to desist with the cryptic riddled answers.”

My god. They’re squabbling like children. I guess they really are brothers! I pinch Loki again.

One corner of his mouth tilts up slightly and his hand slips up my leg, pinching my thigh back. “Do you think he believes me, Thor?”

My eyes snap to the tall blond warrior. He’s biting his lip, looking out the window. “I believe so, brother. But you know how Father can be…”

“All too well. So tell me; why should I go see him if he may just imprison me again the moment I arrive?”

“He will not do so.”

“How would you be sure?”

“I will not let him!”

I can feel Loki’s surprise at his brother’s pronouncement. “You are saying you will take my side? Against your father?”

“He is your father too, Loki.” Thor says, his voice quiet and pained.

Loki ignores this last, simply keeps gazing steadily at Thor until the latter gives up. “Yes, I will. I know you and Father have had your disagreements with each other. Bor knows you and I have had our differences of opinion. Some rather explosive…”

Against his will it seems Loki’s lips twitch again.

“…But I believe you, brother and I did even before the Mad Titan appeared and proved your words beyond a doubt. And so I will not hesitate to stand with you and defend you against Father’s wrath, should he be wrathful. I will not allow him to condemn you, and should he be unreasonable and attempt to cast you out I will stand against him, and all of Asgard if need be, to show that you are as innocent as you say.”

Loki licks his lips slowly. I can tell that Thor’s words affect him deeply and that they mean a great deal to him. But of course the stubborn mule can’t admit it. “Bold words, brother…”

Thor gives him a look that tells me he, too, sees right through Loki’s bullshit. “Will you come back to Asgard with me?”

Loki looks up at the ceiling. “When I am well.”

Thor’s relief is tangible.

“And only if you secure me Odin's word that he will be cordial and respectful of my guest.”

Thor frowns. “Guest?”

Loki looks at him exasperated, then throws a pointed look at me.

“You would bring Annie?” Surprise colors every syllable of Thor’s words.

“I would.”

“I do not think that is the best idea at this time, brother.” Thor says cautiously.

“I do not give a rat’s arse; as the Midgardians so eloquently say. If she wishes to accompany me then she shall. And if your father refuses to accept her and treat her in the manner in which she deserves to be treated, then he will not see me before his throne either.”

Thor presses his lips together. “You know how he feels about humans.”

“And you know how I felt about humans. I am living proof that opinions change. And in any case I do not care to change his mind. I only care to not be separated from her.”

“I think she would be able to handle being away from you for a day or two, brother…” Thor says in a low voice, throwing a quick glance at me. I tilt my head at this treatment. Does he think I’m deaf?

“Do not talk across her, Thor. Midgardians may have inferior ears compared to ours, but they can hear conversations happening in the same room as they find themselves in, quite excellently. And in any case you have it wrong; it is not she who could not handle being away from me for a few days. It is _me_ who does not wish to be separated from _her.”_

My hand closes around the fabric of his shirt by his hips, holding on tightly in recognition to his words. I know he means what he says, but he’s also saying it because he doesn’t want Thor to think I’m weak. Loki’s thumb strokes over my knee reassuringly.

“I do not think father will like it.”

Loki shrugs. “That is his misfortune.”

“Perhaps if I were to go back and present the idea to him. Ask him…”

“Do what you must and what you think is best, Thor, but do not ask his permission. I do not want it nor do I require it. Annie will come with me whether he likes it or not. And if he forbids it, then I shall not go.”

Thor nods grimly. “I will go and relay your message to him. But Loki, I urge you to think about the actions you are taking. Do not antagonize Father when he is extending a branch of peace.”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Odin would find reason to feel antagonized with me if I crawled up to him on my hands and knees and begged him to accept me as his loyal servant.”

Thor frowns. His mouth opens as if he is about to argue, but then he thinks better of it and closes it again. “Mother sends her regards.” He says instead.

I see the emotions play across Loki’s face before he nonchalantly replies, “Please, return my own to her.”

Thor nods. “I will return in a day or two and we will make plans for our departure.”

Loki nods and waves an airy uncaring hand. Thor throws a long look at his brother who has turned his back to him. I wave at Thor. He waves back then departs.

As soon as the door closes behind Thor, Loki let’s out a long breath. His shoulders visibly relax as an air of tension I hadn’t consciously noticed before leaves him.

“You ok?” I ask softly.

He nods slowly. “I forgot how exhausting it is to deal with my brother.”

“Well, you did kinda make it harder for yourself too, dontcha think?”

He nods. “I know. But I have often learned the hard way that showing my emotions around Thor can backfire drastically.”

I pick up his hand from my knee and thread my fingers with his, remembering how just an hour ago they were glowing with magic. “How do you mean?”

Loki sighs looking up at the ceiling. “How do I explain..? I have often felt… belittled by my brother. In retrospect I do not think he consciously meant to kick me down. As I’ve told you before his personality is more gruff; brash and loud. He says the first thing that comes to his mind and he says it without thinking it could affect others. He is very thick skinned and as such, anything that is said about him most often does not bother him.”

“So you think that because it doesn’t bother him, _he_ thinks anything he says won’t bother others either?”

“Exactly. Our personalities are quite opposite and tend to clash spectacularly. But he also used to be quite fond of keeping me in my place, so to speak. It was not uncommon for him to say those words to me.”

“What words?”

“ _Loki, remember your place._ ” He says in a spot on impersonation of Thor.

“Really? He’d say that to you?”

“Frequently.”

“What was your place? Compared to him?”

“Equal in overall standing. We were both princes. He was the first born but the only rank that this raised him in was in the status of heir to the throne.”

“Could he have been referring to the fact that you were adopted?”

“He did not know.”

“Huh… Well, that was… dickish…”

Loki chuckles softly. “As apt a description as I have ever heard for my brother’s conduct.”

“Still he told me once that he knows he hasn’t always been supportive of you. And that he regrets that a lot.”

“He said that?”

“Mhm…”

Loki is silent, staring at the ceiling, apparently digesting this.

Carefully I reach out and stroke his face, one finger lightly tracing a dark purple bruise beneath his left eye. “He said he’s afraid that he’s irreparably broken your guys’ relationship. I told him I don’t think he has.”

Loki’s eyes shift to look at me.

“Was I wrong?”

He looks back at the ceiling. “No.” he sighs. “I love my brother… But it will take time for me to trust that his word is true.”

“That’s what I said too. But… you gotta meet him halfway… or at least take a few steps toward him too. You know what I’m saying? You both fucked up before. You both need to fix this. Not just him…”

Loki closes his eyes. I lean forward drawing my fingers carefully over the beloved features of his face. His jaw muscles are hard. “Mad at me?” I whisper to his stony visage.

His eyes open. “No, love. You speak naught but the truth. I simply need to learn to accept it.” A slow smile crosses his face. “I am also marveling at how clever you are.”

I flush slightly looking down. “Well, I’ve been known to have my moments.” My eyes fall on my bandaged arm. “Lately those moments have been somewhat less than normal though…”

Loki too looks down at my arm too. “Would you like me to heal those for you?” he asks.

My head jerks up to look at him in surprise. “What?”

“Now that I am once more in control of the full spectrum of my magical abilities, I can heal your wounds.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Physical wounds at least.”

“What about your own?”

“Ah, that is harder. No, I cannot heal myself. Only another magic user could. My mother for instance. But do not look so dejected, love. I already feel much better. Now, about those… May I?”

I nod, partly because I do want him to heal me because, let’s be honest, everything hurts, but for the most part because I want to see a demonstration of his powers.

Loki pushes himself up to sitting. His face contorts with effort and discomfort, leading me to believe that he’s not quite as fine as he says he is. When he catches my concerned look he smiles tightly then shakes his head to indicate that it’s nothing. I go get him three more painkillers anyway.

When he’s swallowed them he gets me to sit beside him on the bed. Carefully, as if I may splinter apart, he places two fingers on my forehead. Warmth flows through me, spreading out and downward through my body from the point where his fingertips connect with my skin. A subdued, pleasant tingling follows. It moves through me in a slow wave, sluggish like syrup, and just as sweet. When it fades my body feels light. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the lightness is the absence of pain. The pain from my various bruises and other injuries was literally heavy; weighing me down.

I look up to meet Loki’s eyes. He’s smiling in the face of my amazement. With trembling fingers I unwrap the bandage from around my arm. The cuts from last night are gone. In their place are ten pale white scars criss-crossing my skin. They look like they have been there for years instead of barely half a day. “Whoa…” I breathe, gingerly touching one, sure that it must be an illusion. But it doesn’t hurt.

Loki’s eyes are shadowed as he watches me. “Once we get to Asgard there is a potion we can apply that will fade them completely.”

I look up at him. “Will you use it too?” I ask reaching out and brushing my fingers over his own arm.

He watches me do this but doesn’t answer. “What time is it?” he asks.

I lean across him, luxuriating in the fact that I can stretch without it hurting, and snatch my phone up from my nightstand. “Just past 2.”

He studies me. “You should attempt to sleep a bit more. I thought those circles beneath your eyes were bruises, but they are still there. You are tired.”

I grimace at him. “So basically you’re saying I look like shit?!"

He smiles slightly, pulling me down towards him, kissing the top of my head. “Darling, you could not look “like shit" if you tried.”

“Flatterer.” I grumble then nestle into him. I take a few deep breaths trying to calm my heart that began racing the moment I actively considered sleep.

Loki, of course, hears it. “What is the matter, love?”

“I’m scared.” I whisper, burying my face in the crook of his neck.

His arms immediately tighten around me. “Of what?”

“I don’t know… nigthmares and just… so many things…”

His lips land atop my head. “I wish I knew how to make it better…”

“You do. You do make it better. But now… I don’t know… I… what if he comes back?” my voice shakes.

Loki’s arms constrict even further around me. “He will not. The Man of Iron has assured me that there are defence systems now in place that will alert him if the Titan’s ship renters Midgard's atmosphere. There is a new lockdown system he is implementing in all rooms and my brother has brought back Asgardian technology that will put a force field around the Compound. You are safe, love.”

I raise my head. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

His eyes become indescribably tender as he looks at me. “I am also safe.”

“I can’t get the pictures out of my head.” I whisper, feeling tears rising in my eyes and a lump forming in my throat. “What he did to you. Now. Then. I just… I don’t know… I… god, I’m sorry. I’m so selfish. Here I am blubbering when _you_ were the one he was hurting.”

“Stop it, darling. You are not selfish. You were forced to witness horrible things. You yourself were in danger. Never apologize for how you feel about me and how my pain affects you. I hate that you were hurt by watching me suffer, but the fact that you care enough to be thusly affected… well, it means more to me than I could put into words…”

I swallow then look up at him. “I love you.” I whisper. “so much.”

“And I love you, Annie. More than I ever thought it possible to love anything.” He pauses, considering. “But if you do not go to sleep now then I will knock you out with a magical blow that will leave you asleep for the next few days.”

“You can do that?”

“Do not test me.” He grins.

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t refuse, but that would mean I’d miss time I could have spent with you.”

He rolls his eyes at my cheesiness but I know he secretly loves it. “Go to sleep.”

“Tell me something.”

“What would you like to hear?”

“Anything.”

He lays his head back, thinking. When he begins to speak it is in a soft voice; melodic and smooth. He’s not telling me a story or even saying anything concrete. It sounds like he’s reciting a poem. It is skillful and slow, the verses swinging and combining. The cadence and tone of the poem remind me of a mix of a Shakespeare sonnet and Edgar Allan Poe’s _The Raven_. He speaks of beauty, and strength. Of a warrioress, a princess, a goddess. Of the sun and the stars and how they loved her. Of how she loved all but would not settle. Her wild heart and spirit. I fall asleep somewhere around the point where the main character falls in love with the trees and the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Loki was kind of an ass to Thor and Thor was a bit of a dick to Annie. Kind of. In my head both boys have a hard time trusting each other after everything that happened in Thor 1 and Avengers and so on. But they'll figure their shit out especially cause Annie isnt gonna let Loki get away with too much bitchyness toward Thor.   
> Also I'm not exactly Team Odin, can you tell?! Lol.  
> Hope you liked and thanks for reading! 🥰🥰


	36. Believe Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortish chapter, so I apologize.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS for some angst, family confrontation, anxiety and, just I guess, stress...

I don’t know how much time had passed when I feel Loki shaking me gently awake. I mumble incoherently and push my face further into his chest, attempting to cling to sleep. Something annoying niggles at the back of my mind.

“Annie.” Loki’s voice sounds directly in my ear. “Annie, love, your telephone is ringing.”

My eyes snap open. Of course. It’s the day my mom usually calls. Normally she messages me but once a month she calls. And that day is today… Also that’s what’s annoying me. As soon as the last vestiges of sleep drop from me the annoying thing I thought was in my mind manifests itself into the physical and becomes the chiming ringtone of my phone.

Dammit. I’m not prepared for this. What do I do? Do I talk? Do I not? It’s been so long; I owe it to her. But… am I ready? Emotionally? I don’t know! I want to but at the same time I don’t. Because if I do it will open an entirely new can of worms. My mother will freak out. In a good way, but her exuberance has always had the unique ability to stress me out, even _before._

Shit! I need more time to think about it. But my phone chirping happily in my ear tells me that I don’t have it. Because I know that even if I ignore her she’ll just call right back.

I make a wild grab for the cursed device and glower at the screen as if it’ll just somehow, magically, be someone else but my mother.

Loki raises himself laboriously onto his elbows to look over my shoulder. I tilt the phone so he can see. “Will you answer?” he asks.

The phone stops ringing. I just sit and stare at it in silence, until it starts ringing again. I feel Loki’s lips against my spine. “You do not have to speak to her.” He whispers into my skin. “She will not know. You could simply do what you always do…”

I shrug. I could. But it wouldn’t be fair. My mother has lost so much and she tried so hard. She didn’t always make the right choices, and sometimes she hindered more than she helped, but she’d always done her best, and her heart had always been in the right place. And she had always been thinking of me. Unlike my dad.

The phone stops ringing.

It starts again almost immediately. I take a deep breath. Then another. Then I press the green button and hold the phone to my ear.

She starts in on me as soon as the line’s clear. “Annie, you can’t just not answer me. You know how I worry!”

I take another deep breath, “Hi, mom.”

Silence.

Deafening silence.

I thought I was used to silence, but this is different. This silence is heavy with the weight of two and a half years. And it feels two and a half years long too.

I start to cry silently. “Mom?”

Then a shout. “Dave! Dave, come here. _Right now!_ It’s… it’s happening. She’s talking. _DAVE!_ Hold on, honey, don’t hang up. I’m just trying to find your father. _DAAAVE!_ Where the ever loving fuck are you?!”

I hiccup a watery laugh. My mother doesn’t swear. Ever. And the curse words dropping out of her mouth right now, as she hunts the house for my father, make me giggle even as tears dribble slowly down over my cheeks.

“Oh, honey. Oh, sweetheart. It’s so good to hear you laughing. Oh, baby. I’m so happy. _DAAAAAAAAVE!_ GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE. YOUR DAUGHTER’S ON THE PHONE!”

Distantly I hear my dad’s footsteps approaching, and imagine him clumping down the stairs into the foyer, where my mother stands, leaning over the bannister, the phone pressed to her ample bosom.

I hear crackling through the line; my parents whispering, though I can’t focus to make out what they’re saying because Loki has just taken my hand in his and is kissing each of my fingertips in turn.

Silence.

“Are you still there, honey?”

“Yes, mom.”

A deep shaking breath.

Then, “Hi, pumpkin nose.”

My eyes squeeze shut as a flood of tears cascades down my cheeks all at once. “Hi, daddy.”

He, too, chokes back a sob. “How are you?”

“I’m…” I start to say _I’m fine_ , that perfunctory, pre-programmed answer, but then I change my mind. “I’m hurt, daddy. You really, really hurt me!”

I feel Loki squeezing my hand tightly, wrapping his entire body around me from below.

The other end of the line is silent, and I wonder if my dad left, if I pushed him too far with my honesty.

But then I hear a deep, shuddering breath. And then he’s talking, the words falling out of his mouth, zipping along the invisible connection over the hundreds of miles between us, and pouring into my ear. “I know, honey. I know. I’m so sorry, pumpkin nose. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what was wrong with me, I… I just… I couldn’t look at you without imagining you there. Being hurt. I… I’m your father. I was supposed to be the first one in line to protect you. And I didn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t even see the threat that lived under my own roof. I failed you!”

I realize I’m shaking my head, my finger repeatedly tapping no on the phone. I rally my voice; an act that is still much harder than it should be, and interrupt his waterfall of words. “You didn’t fail me, daddy. And neither did mom. The only one who failed me; who failed all of us, was Jacob!”

I hear him suck in a hissing breath; and even before he says it, I know what he’s gonna say. “He’s still my son…” my dad whispers in a tiny little voice; that old, old argument he’d made so many times before.

Anger blooms in my chest and I sit up straighter, white-knuckling the phone. “And he’s still my brother! So what? That doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change what he did to me! He _raped_ me, daddy, and he invited his friends to join in.”

I hear my mother moan softly, and imagine my dad’s fingers clenching around the phone in anger.

I plow on, “And if you still can’t accept that; still won’t believe me, then we’re done here. Again!”

“No. No, Annie, wait. I’m sorry. You’re right. I… I… You’re right. I just…”

“Stop it, dad. No excuses anymore. Not for yourself, and not for Jacob. There are no excuses for what he did!”

“You’re right, there’s not…”

“I’m not asking you to forget him. I’m not asking you to stop loving him… I’m just asking you… to love me more. You’ve always loved Jacob better than me. In recent years more than ever. But for once, dad, just love me more… Just… just love _me!”_ I sob, clutching my phone tighter, as my body bows over forwards, the tears now running steadily down my face.

More silence. Then, “Oh, Annie. Annie, sweetie, do you really believe that? Do you really believe I loved your brother more than you? How could you think that?”

“You believed him.” I sob. “You believed him, and you didn’t believe me.”

“Oh, baby, I always loved you just as much as I did your brother. I just… I didn’t know how to say it with you. I was a fool. Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Annie.”

I sniffle and gulp, wetly. “You love me?”

“With all my heart!”

“And you believe me?”

A moment of silence. I feel Loki, tense with anticipation, behind me. “Yes. Yes, Annie, I do. I believe you.”

Both Loki and I sag at the same time. He with relief, me with the sudden feeling of a tremendous weight being lifted from me. I fall back against him, feeling dizzy and lightheaded with the force of this easement.

“Are you still there, pumpkin nose?”

“Yea... yea, daddy, I’m here. Is mom still there?”

“I’m right here, honey.”

“I’m… I’m really tired, guys. Can I call you back tomorrow?” I ask, bracing for the weight of their disappointment.

“Sure, honey. When… whenever you like.” My mom says, her voice wobbling a bit. “You rest up now, okay?”

I nod. Then remind myself that A) they can’t see me, and B) I need to be vocal now. “Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I promise.”

“Okay, baby. It’s so good to hear your voice again. What do you think of us maybe coming down to visit you sometime soon? Would you like that?”

I falter. “I… can we talk about it tomorrow, mom? I’m not… I can’t…” I feel my body vibrating with anxiety and the toll it’s taking on me, this prolonged verbal interaction.

“Of course, sweetie. You think about it. And we’ll hear you tomorrow… right?”

She sounds so unsure that it cleaves my heart in two. “You will, mommy. I promise. I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

“We’re so proud of you!” my dad chimes in.

“Thanks, daddy. I… I love you, too.”

“And I love you, pumpkin nose. So much!”

“Bye…”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye, honey…”

They’re lingering on the line, unable to let the connection go, not quite believing that they’ll truly hear me again tomorrow. The weight of what I’d done to them over the past two years, what my silence had cost them, threatens to crush me. I throw another quick “Love you, talk to you tomorrow” down the line, then hang up. I physically fling the phone from me before I collapse backwards into Loki’s ready arms.

He bundles me up tight against his chest, pulling the blanket up and tucking it around my shivering form.

He doesn’t speak, knows instinctively that what I crave most right now is silence. His lips brush over my face, my eyelids, my wet cheeks, my forehead, the tip of my nose, the corners of my mouth. He kisses up the few, slow, fat tears that continue to fall, until I shudder myself into stillness.

With a deep sigh I let go of the heavy emotions stirred up by the confrontation with my father.

“Better?” Loki asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nod silently, not feeling up to answering him aloud right now.

I think he understands because he drops another kiss on my forehead, then pulls me in tighter against his chest, his large body spooning my curled up one. “I am so proud of you too!” he whispers in my ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if we'll physically see her parents visiting. Maybe we'll just get to the aftermath since its bound to take an emotional toll on her. We'll see.   
> I hope this chapter wasn't too random, but I saw it as important to Annie's healing process to hash things out with her father and also to let her parents back in when shes continually pushed them away for so long.   
> Thanks for reading!


	37. Magic and Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fluffy chapter.  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS for some angst and minor minor flashbacks.  
> Some discussions about things that have so far gone unexplained. No concrete explanations but some ideas.  
> Also theres a little surprise for you at the very end of the chapter that I hope you'll like!

I don’t go back to sleep. I lie there, safe and protected in the circle of Loki’s arms and try not to think. It mostly works, miraculously, because my brain is so maxed out even though my body is more energized than before, due in large part to Loki's healing. I can tell the exact moment that he falls asleep behind me because his body relaxes as if a giant weight had been lifted off him. His breathing slows and evens out and his chest rises and falls rhythmically against my back. I turn around slowly in his arms until I'm facing him.

I study his peaceful face. He is so beautiful, even with all the bruises. I have to physically restrain myself from tracing his features so I don't wake him up. My eyes do what I don’t allow my fingers to do, stroking over his delicate bone structure, the subtle yet hard lines in his chiseled face that are softened only lightly by sleep. His exceedingly pale skin is only accentuated by the blue and purple shadows that bloom beneath it. His hair hangs in his face, a single curl flopping over his forehead. Very carefully I sweep it back. His finely sculpted lips are parted slightly as he breathes in his sleep. His long eyelashes cast shadows over his sharp cheekbones. He looks so vulnerable and fragile like this, but at the same time unearthly and ethereal. My heart aches fiercely in the best way possible as I drink in his handsomeness and beauty.

I stay like this for hours though it doesn’t feel that long. The only notion I have of time passing is the slowly darkening sky outside my window.

The idea occurs to me when I see the first stars start to glimmer outside.

Slowly so as not to jostle Loki I sit up. I squirm out of his embrace and pad to my dresser. I hunt together some clothes and then go take a shower. After I finish and finally get my hair untangled, I head back over to him. I sit on the edge of the bed and lean forward, gently letting my lips whisper over his skin. For once I want him to wake up to a nice memory of me instead of me having to throw stuff at him or nearly blind him to get him out of a nightmare.

His eyes peel open. They are at once alert, though still sleepy “Are you alright?” he asks immediately.

I nod then stand up and hold out my hand to him. He rises without hesitation, trusting me without question. It makes me smile.  
  
I pass him the sweater I’d dug out of my drawer earlier. It’s oversize on me but on his broader frame it will be snug. But that’s okay. Where we’re going no one will see us.

I take his hand and lead him out of my room. He follows wordlessly. We make our way soundlessly through the Compound's deserted hallways. It’s empty as it always is at this time of night, and I marvel briefly at the fact that barely two nights ago I’d wandered these halls alone, on my way down to see him in the cells, and now he's here with me, walking beside me. I want to say that I’m lucky, but it took a near death experience for both of us, and the obliteration of about a quarter of the building to get us here. I don’t know if that was worth it. The selfish part of me looks at Loki and says that yes, yes it was fucking worth it! The unselfish side reminds me of all the agents that were injured and the toll rebuilding will take on Tony’s pocketbook.

My internal struggle between the proverbial angel and devil on my shoulder lasts until we arrive at the heavy steel door. I can sense Loki’s eyes on me as I reach up to tuck a folded dollar bill into the alarm mechanism. I open the door, and because I couldn’t find any tape I simply lean my copy of _The Odyssey_ against the frame to prevent the door from closing. I motion Loki to follow me up the ladder.

Up there he looks with interest at Clint and Natasha’s little hideout until I poke him in the ribs and point upwards. His head swivels and then his jaw drops.

Stars. Millions of stars. Real ones this time. And because all the Compound’s external lights are off, and we’re out in the suburbs away from the big city lights, you can see them all.

Even though the view up above is so spectacular I watch Loki instead. His face is completely open; there is such joy and wonder on it that it makes him look younger, almost like a little boy. Like the one I imagined when he told me about looking at the stars with his mother…

This was what I had hoped for. I’d wanted him to have this moment, his first true moment of being free; of _feeling_ free again, to be with me, and to be special. And the look on his face as he shifts to look at me tells me that I accomplished this.

I point him towards the edge of the roof, telling him wordlessly to sit down, while I go and grab the red plaid blanket that is folded neatly over the back of the couch. I join Loki in his spot, swinging the blanket around us like a giant cape. He pulls me against his side, wrapping me up in the warmth of both him and the blanket. I lean into him and we both just sit in silence for a while looking up at the stars.

Loki is the first to break the silence. “May I ask you something, love?”

I nod, not taking my eyes of the vista above our heads.

“Will you allow your parents to visit you?”

I swallow hard then turn to look at him. “I want to…” I say softly. “I really do. I miss them. It feels… I don’t know… It feels like I haven’t seen them in a long time. It’s been a year, which by itself, is a long time, but it feels even longer. Because I shut them out so completely, and because of everything with my dad and all that. But I’m scared too…”

“Because you think it will cause you a lot of stress and exhaustion having to see them and speak to them?”

He understands. I nod. “I’m also afraid that they might pressure me to tell them what happened. Or to go back to the police. Because now that I’m speaking again maybe they’ll think I’ll be able to describe my attackers better and then the cops will be able to identify them and arrest them…”

“You do not have to do anything you do not want to, love.” Loki says gently, combing his fingers through my still damp hair.

“I know…” I sigh heavily. “But how could I not… what if… what if they do it again? What if they already did it again? It would be my fault because I could have stopped it if I’d just spoken up.”

Loki’s fingers tighten slightly in the hair at the nape of my neck. He doesn’t pull; it doesn’t hurt, but I do feel the domineering pressure of his grip as he tilts my head back forcing me to look at him. “Do not say that. It is not your fault. Anything that these reprehensible humans do or did is entirely on them. You do not control their actions, and the weight of their choices does not rest on your shoulders!”

I blink at him slowly. He glowers down at me with fierce determination to make me understand.

I nod.

He relaxes his grip and kisses my forehead, leaving his lips to linger there. “I admire that compassion of yours, love, but do not let it make you foolish.”

“Okay…” I whisper even though I’m not entirely convinced. I do see his point though.

We sit in silence some more. This time I break it, asking something that’s been on my mind all day. “Why do you think my screaming hurt all the monsters?”

I feel Loki stiffen slightly at the mention of our ordeal. “I do not know…” he says slowly. “I have thought about it a great deal and the only conclusion I could come to is that you somehow landed upon a cadence and pitch that was harmful to this species' ears. That, or perhaps there was some residual, lingering magic that combined and manifested with your voice in some way, due to the fact that it was unused for so long.”

I frown. “That makes no sense…”

“Magic rarely makes sense, love.”

“Will you show me some more?”

“Magic?”

I nod.

“I am not at full strength. Anything I show you will be much less impressive as what I can otherwise do.”

“It’s _magic!_ I’ll be impressed no matter what.”

He chuckles.

“Please?”

“Oh, alright. Just a little.”

He holds out one hand in front of us letting a green flame ignite in the center of his palm. I lean forwards transfixed, the warm green glow bathing my face.

“I promise to give you a proper show once I am back up to full strength.” Loki says softly. “Also I think the pills you administer to me for my pain are somehow inhibiting my abilities.”

I peek up at him. His face is right up close to mine, his eyes glowing even greener than normal as they refract the magic’s light. His expression is soft as he takes in my wonder.

“Can I touch it?” I ask.

He smiles sweetly and nods.

Slowly I reach out a trembling finger towards the flame. I instinctively expect it to be hot the way fire is supposed to be, even when it's green; I mean you wouldn’t stick your finger into a Bunsen burner's flame when you’re burning copper, would you?! But it’s not. It's warm, like a gentle summer breeze and it caresses my skin in much the same way.

“This is amazing…” I whisper, opening and closing my hand in the green fire, attempting to catch it, but it’s like trying to catch smoke. I tilt my hand this way and that watching the flames part around it and lick over my skin, painlessly.

Loki watches me play, his eyes on my face instead of his display. Eventually he closes his fist, extinguishing the fire and allowing the darkness of the night to wash over us.

I look up at his face which registers such tenderness that I can't even pretend to be annoyed at him for taking away my fun. “Thank you for showing me that.” I say stretching up to kiss his jaw lightly.

“Just wait until I can show you everything I am capable of.” He says. “If you think you are impressed now it will not compare.”

“I’m sure!” I reply sincerely where I normally would have teased him about being full of himself. But after that I can’t even really imagine that he could do more impressive things. I mean it's magic for fuck's sake!

“What is it like when you hear me screaming in your head?” he asks suddenly and I jerk at the abrupt, kind of unwelcome, change in topic.

He squeezes me a bit tighter in apology. I lick my suddenly dry lips slowly, thinking about my answer. “I’m not sure… At first when it happened it was unnerving but also weirdly comforting. I mean as comforting as having a strange dude’s voice screaming bloody murder in your brain could be… But like I said, you made all the noises I couldn’t that night and I think it saved me from screaming myself and possibly getting beat up worse by them…” My voice shakes and Loki locks me even tighter in his arms.

“Afterwards it was usually kind of like a persistent buzzing in the back of my mind. Whenever I got stressed out, or anxious, or afraid, or had a nightmare it would get louder. When it was especially bad the screaming would eclipse everything and I’d always be surprised that nobody else could hear it. It seemed way too real and vivid.”

“It was always present?”

I nod. “Always. It started disappearing for the first time when I started hanging out with you. At first only for short moments and then longer and longer. It still happened whenever I had nightmares and stuff, even with you but you were able to quiet it most of the time. And you _never_ caused it.”

He looks at me thoughtfully.

“Why do you think I heard you?”

“I do not know. It is possibly some magical connection, but I do not know what could have conceivably caused it or why it should have sparked between us specifically. You say you were singing that song inside your head? You were not speaking the words out loud?”

I shake my head. Then I pause. “Actually… I’m not sure. I don’t think I was saying them aloud but maybe I could have been. I mean, I was humming aloud and stuff while I was with you and I didn’t notice. So maybe… But it wasn’t consciously.”

“Because I am wondering how I heard you. Even if there is some magical explanation for how my screams were transmitted to you, I cannot explain how your voice got back to me. I was being vocal. You, it seems, were not.”

“You said magic doesn’t always make sense.”

He huffs a chuckle. “Correct. When was the last time you heard me in your head?”

“Last night.” I say quietly looking down at my hands ashamed. “When i… you know…”

Loki nods, kissing the top of my head again.

“What about you? When was the last time you heard me?”

“When Thanos was torturing me. When I tried to contain my screams so you would not hear them. Little did I know that you already could, and had for some time. But you helped me control it.”

A single tear tracks a path down my cheek. In a flash Loki’s finger comes up and traps it. He wipes it away gently then adjusts the blanket until I’m completely cocooned in it. He doesn’t say anything about it being okay or us being safe, and I’m glad. Earlier I needed to hear it, but now it seems superfluous. I believe him when he says we’re safe. I trust Tony’s genius and his tech. But all of that still doesn’t take away what happened and what we saw and were put through. Those memories are gonna stay with us and words aren’t gonna just magically erase them. Only time will…

I almost laugh out loud at the edict I just used. _Give it time, Annie._ I guess I maybe just realized that it is true. I am healing. It took time; a lot of it. But it turns out that all the people i thought were just full of shit were actually, apparently, right: it does take time. Time and a Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like the drawing? It's just a quick sketch so it's not super detailed but I was inspired to draw this last night just out of nowhere while I was editing. So I just tossed it down. I think I might do it again for other chapters and cute scenes and hopefully have some more time so I can make it a bit more detailed. This is what I myself have loosely imagined Annie to look like but I enforce no parameters to how you personally picture her onto you. Feel free to see her however you wish! Also it took me like two hours to figure out how to post pictures here. I'm not the brightest bulb when it comes to technology and shtuff...  
> Anyhoo I hope you liked the chapter. There'll be a few more fluff filled ones and then it's off to Asgard. Ooh. And then there'll be fluffy chapters on Asgard. Lol.  
> Thanks for reading!!!!


	38. A Beauty and a Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not posting yesterday. I've started writing a new story and I was in a full on frenzy of inspiration for that so I didnt find the time to edit this chapter...  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS for angst, anxiety, bad memories, confrontation with a bully, and a bit of a panic attack.  
> I hope you like the chapter, it's a bit of a filler but I still think it fits.

When I wake up again I’m curled up like a kitten, my head pillowed on Loki’s lap. The blanket now covers only me, wrapped around me like I’m a mummy, keeping out the chill from the early morning air. He's leaned back on one of his hands, the other one is combing through my hair. His eyes are busy, taking in the surroundings and I know that he is absorbing everything, glorying in the fact that he gets to be out in the fresh air after so long being locked up.

I roll over and stretch, and his attention shifts immediately to me. “Good morning, my love.”

I smile up at him. His answering smile is dazzling. “Are you cold?”

I shake my head. My stomach growls loudly. I flush.

Loki laughs and I swear I’ve never heard his laugh so carefree. “But hungry, apparently.”

“Sorry…”

He throws me an exasperated look and I know it’s because I’m apologizing for something normal; something human. I hold up both hands in supplication and he chuckles.

“Come, let us get you fed.” He rises fluidly pulling me up with him. I watch him like a hawk as he moves and see that he’s walking a lot easier now. He's not wincing as much when he puts weight on the left side of his body and his movements are a lot less sluggish and back to having that feral, feline grace that I’m used to seeing in him. Accelerated healing must be pretty awesome.

I reach up and capture his chin, turning his face towards me and tilting it side to side, checking the bruises. They’re a lot lighter now, almost completely faded too, the cuts and scrapes almost completely knitted closed.

He tilts his head down and plants a quick peck in the palm of my hand where it cups his chin.

We make our way through the Compound together, holding hands tightly. Last night when I started this excursion I’d thought ahead to the fact that the halls would be empty and we wouldn’t have anyone gawking at us and judging us. But I’d been too immersed in my plan to get Loki outside into the freedom of the night, that I hadn’t considered the fact that we’d also eventually have to make our way back. To my room. In broad daylight. Among people. Aren’t I supposed to be smart?!

But I’m surprised when no one actually stops us or hurls insults at us. Loki keeps his head down as he walks beside me. I keep mine up, ready to jump down the throats of anyone who says anything dumb. It’s strange. Normally I am _not_ the confrontational type, but if I imagine someone having a go at Loki I feel like I’d happily rip the person apart. Even though Loki could probably do the job ten times better…

We get a lot of looks. Some suspicious, some condescending, some angry. A few people turn their heads away pretending to read files, or look at their phones or fingernails; busy, busy, can’t see the freaks walking down the hallway! Others though look curious. Some even nod when they see us.

I’m just about to overthink it when I see _him._ Fury washes through me in a great tide. A roaring starts in my ears and my vision tunnels until all I can see is _him._ I break away from Loki, starting forwards.

 _He_ must sense the crackling energy of my anger because he turns around a split second before I shove him in his disgustingly ripped chest as hard as I can.

“You!” I screech. “You foul, loathsome, evil, little cockroach!”

Agent Brenner stumbles backwards. I wager it’s the combined force of my, probably not all too strong push, as well as his surprise at actually hearing me speak that forces him to back up.

He catches himself quickly and a smarmy smirk lodges itself firmly on his stupid, chiseled face. “What’s the matter, beautiful?”

He hasn’t called me that in so long and, like back then, it makes me want to barf. “Just shut the fuck up, you bastard. Don’t you ever come near me or Loki again or I’ll fucking castrate you.”

He chuckles and waves an airy hand, dismissing me.

“Yeah, you’re right. No sense doing that to you anymore, you dickless amphibian!”

That seems to have hit a nerve because his eyes narrow at me after they flick around at the people who’ve formed a circle around us, gawking at this confrontation. “Watch it, you little bitch. You may be starting to convince other gullible idiots, but I know the truth. And I’ll get him. And if you stand in my way then I’ll get you too!” he hisses at me trying to keep quiet so others don’t hear his obvious threat.

I feel Loki’s presence behind me without having to turn around. Agent Brenner’s eyes widen before they narrow again, flashing with hate. “You!”

I can physically hear the dangerous smirk in Loki’s voice. “Me…”

“You’d better watch your back, you-"

Loki interrupts him before he can get himself worked up even more. “No, I believe the only back worth watching is your own. I might be tempted to not take your attack on my life as a personal affront, but I am also exceedingly aware of the many hours of distress and discomfort you have caused Annie. As a warrior of Asgard I shall do you the dubious honor of giving you one warning, and only one.”

Dylan attempts to cut across him. “Don’t you go getting all self righteous on me. You may think people believe in the fairy tale crap of you being reformed but I know this is just some Beauty and the Beast bull, where you’ve got her manipulated into believing that you’re a good guy. Classic fucking Stockholm Syndrome!”

As soon as Dylan takes a breath Loki continues as if he’d never even spoken. “If you ever lay as much as another finger on her, say one more word to her, or even look at her, you will find out exactly how much of a monster I can be when I am in charge of all my facilities and my own mind!”

Without further ado Loki reclaims my hand and walks away. I throw a middle finger salute up over my shoulder because I want to underscore Loki’s words with a statement of my own.

“He’s a monster!” Agent Brenner bleats from behind us, clearly once again not knowing when to shut the hell up. “He’ll break you just for the fun of it. And when he's done with you he’ll kill you!”

I stop in my tracks my back rigid. I spin around and round on him again, hissing, “Who do you think monsters fall for, you stupid prick? Weak, breakable little girls? Or other monsters?” I stalk back towards him and push up on my tiptoes getting right in his face. “You got the fairy tale right. But Loki is the beauty. _I’m_ the beast!”

Before he can react to that rather over dramatic statement I spin away and flounce off down the corridor towing Loki along behind me and feeling the weight of dozens of eyes on me.

I don’t stop until we get to my room where I slam the door behind me with so much force that the window rattles and the single picture frame I have on my dresser falls over.

Loki is doubled over with silent laughter. “That was brilliant, love. Did you see his face?! He looked about ready to expire.”

I’m still seething; too mad to find this funny. “I can't fucking believe he’s weaseled his way out of getting fired _again!”_

Loki comes up to me taking me by the shoulders gently. “I think you may have just inspired him to quit.” He grins.

“Stop _laughing!”_ I half snarl, half sob. “It’s not _funny._ He tried to _kill_ you!”

Loki sobers. “I am sorry, love. I was not laughing at you. I know he frightened you.”

I deflate. “He tried to kill you!” I say again, my voice wobbling.

“I know. But believe me, love, when I say that he will not get the chance again. He took advantage of a very rare moment when I was incapacitated. Such a moment will not occur again, and should he be foolish enough to make another attempt on my life he will deeply regret it. And if he bothers you again I will disintegrate him!”

I lean forward pushing my face against his chest, my arms encircling his waist. “Sorry for snapping at you!” I mumble into his sweater.

He hugs me back stroking one hand over my hair. “I forgive you.”

“People suck.”

He chuckles lightly. “I believe you would be surprised at the number of them who were not openly reproving or disgusted by seeing a convicted murderer walking in their midst.”

“Redeemed!” I say looking up at him.

“In the process of being redeemed.” He corrects. “But therein lies my point, love. People were believing it. Many were still apprehensive, which I understand since a great number of them would have seen the destruction wreaked through my unwilling hands right in front of them. But it appears as if they, at the very least, had their doubts, and they were not outright terrified. Whatever the Man of Iron is doing to convince them seems to be working.”

“How do you know that’s what they were thinking? Most of them seemed pretty keen on avoiding us?”

“Telepathic, love. Remember?”

I blink. Right. He can read minds. He told me that before. But I forgot about it because it’s not as much an outward display of magic as his glowing fingers and illusions are. Geez. Wow! He can read minds. That means… “Are you reading my mind?”

He reaches out a finger and traces it in a slow curve over my brow, eyes fixed intently on the motion. “I could. But I chose not to.”

I feel a subconscious flicker of relief. “Why?”

“Because it would be a gross invasion of your privacy. I value and respect you too much, and I trust you not to lie to me.”

“Would you ever read my mind?”

“Not without your permission.”

“But others you don’t care about asking permission?”

He shrugs and I understand that, as a whole, his view on humanity hasn’t changed all that much. He still thinks them beneath him. It bothers me slightly but I also get it. I mean he's a super strong and powerful extraterrestrial-wizard-god-prince! Of course he’d be above us, just evolution wise. Like a lion is ranked above a lamb, the lion being the predator and all that. And looking at it that way, no human could possibly deny the fact that Loki is clearly a lion and we’re all lambs… But still, I managed to somehow, miraculously convince him that one single human out of billions isn't so bad, and I’ll keep trying to show him that beyond the physical (and the magical) the rest of us aren’t as pathetic as he thinks either.

“Would I be able to tell?”

“If I told you beforehand that I was looking, you might feel it. If I did not you would not be aware. Reading the mind as I have just done in the instance of the people in the hallway is relatively simple. When one only looks for the thoughts immediately at the forefront of the mind one needs only to skim the surface. Like a feather light touch, it is barely felt, and when you are not paying attention to it you would not even know I was touching you.”

He looks down significantly at this point, and when my eyes follow his gaze I see that his fingertips are in fact very, very lightly drawing circles on my arm. I hadn’t consciously felt the touch until he pointed it out to me, which illustrates what he's trying to tell me perfectly.

“Now if I were to look for something such as a specific memory within your mind I would have to go much deeper. This is a much more invasive process and is much more easily felt, though you could do little to stop me.”

I can tell that he likes this, explaining this stuff to me, and that my genuine interest pleases him. “Would it hurt? Having you dig that far into my brain.”

He licks his lips. “If you resisted and I kept pushing. Though there is a phenomenon that I am told is quite pleasant where, as I penetrate your mind I in turn allow you into mine. I have never tried it.”

I kind of want to. I want to see into his mind… But I know how private he is and how guarded and careful. And so I don’t ask. And even though I'd really love a chance to root through his thoughts, I’m also, hypocritically apprehensive and scared of him doing the same to me. So I get it…

“You are thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asks. “What it would be like to share that connection?”

I scowl up at him. “I thought you said you weren’t reading my mind?!”

He chuckles, cupping my face. “I am not. However I can still read you; your emotions. And I know your thought process enough to make educated guesses. It is how I always managed to read you even before I regained my telepathic abilities.”

He’s right, he’s always been able to read me like an open book. “It’s not fair that you can understand me so easily, and you’re such an enigma to me!” I grumble, teasingly petulant.

He strokes my face. “No one understands me better than you, love. If I did not trust you so much it would frighten me.”

“Me too.” Then, because this topic is getting frightfully heavy, I redirect. “Hey, so Tony has given me access to his entire online movie library. How about I introduce you to the Midgardian custom of couch potato-ing?”

His left eyebrow arches high. “What would a potato do on a couch?”

“Nothing. Lie around. Which is exactly the point. Come on.” I grab his hand and tow him towards my bed. There I make him comfortable in a nest of pillows and blankets before I make a nest for myself in his lap. I grab my laptop and open up the movies page. I type in the password that Tony emailed me yesterday. I’m confronted with what appears to be basically every movie in existance. Does this man own all of Hollywood or something?!

I debate back and forth for a while and finally settle on _Shrek,_ since Loki was so confused by Tony’s nickname yesterday and my stunted retelling upon Loki’s query did not really do the masterpiece justice. I giggle silently at making Mr. Sophisticated watch this. I press play, then curl up in his embrace, feeling his chin settle on the crown of my head as the movie starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope people caught my little bow to Hermione in that. Honestly that confrontation with Draco is one of my favourite parts in the book and the movie so I couldnt resist borrowing this. But let's be real for a second; Agent Brenner is so much worse than Malfoy!!! Malfoy is a precious, mistreated bean who must be protected!  
> I hope you liked the chapter. I'm gonna get back to writing that new story. I'll let you know more about that as it develops. For now all I'll tell you is that it's sort of like this one in the hurt/comfort sense, but with different issues for the main character. But instead of Loki it involves Bucky in full on Winter Soldier mode. Lemme know, if you want, if that sounds worth a read. Other than that feedback on this story is appreciated as always, and you are awesome for reading!!! And sorry again for skipping out on yesterday.   
> K, byeeeee!


	39. Parental Guidance is Advised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TRIGGER WARNINGS. Maybe a little bit of anxiety if you stretch your imagination but otherwise a peaceful chapter, though a fair amount of stuff still happens. Hope ya like.  
> Oh ya, and no parental guidance is in fact advised here; this is not a dirty chapter. It's just the title that made me laugh so... yay!

  
We veg out all day. After watching _Shrek 1_ I fully expected Loki to complain about the absurdity of the story but he quite liked it. And so we watched 2 and 3 as well. Afterwards I decided to impose my inner geek on Loki and we watched _The Empire Strikes Back._

I call my parents after out impromptu ogre marathon ends. I tell them truthfully that I would absolutely love for them to come and visit me so I can show them what I do here, and that I miss them a lot. They are so excited and grateful that it feels like a knife has been shoved into my chest and twisted. I’d hurt them so much these past two and a half years…

No! No, not me. Yes, my actions had hurt them but it wasn’t as if I was acting that way out of spite, or rebellious teenage syndrome, or whatever. I was acting that way because of what had been done to me. Which wasn’t my fault! And so my alienation from my parents wasn’t my fault either! It wasn’t ideal and maybe I wouldn’t have been hit quite so hard if I had let them help me, but I can't keep blaming myself. And in any case it’s too late to change the past now, even if I wanted to. I can only focus on the future and the present, and work on fixing what has been broken between us! I think this is called healing...

I run this theory by Loki and he seems about to burst with pride as he hugs me close and agrees with every word I say.

“What did you talk to them about?” I ask, looking up at him from where I’m lying on his chest. Right at the end of my phone call, when I’d been about to hang up, Loki had motioned for the phone. Upon telling my mom that he wanted to talk to her he had vacated my bed and sequestered himself in my bathroom. I had heard the low murmur of his voice through the closed door but I hadn’t been able to make out any words. And I hadn’t snuck up to the door to eavesdrop either. Partially because I knew he’d hear me, but more because I trusted him. But I _am_ curious!

He smiles down at me and pokes my nose. “I merely wanted to properly introduce myself to the both of them.”

Oh. Okay. Makes sense, I guess. Though why he had to lock himself in my toilet to do that...?

I requisition food to be brought to my room from J.A.R.V.I.S., not wanting either me or Loki to face the dinner crush in the cafeteria. We eat as we always do, alternating bites but this time sitting on my spacious bed instead of his tiny cot. Though actually we sit just as close here as we would have down there.

Loki is trying to convince me to watch the next installment in the _Star Wars_ series; he's clearly hooked! And I’m trying to tell him that too much TV isn’t good for humans, to which he replies that he is _not_ human, and I retort that _I am!_ when there’s a knock on the door.

I scowl and scramble out of bed to see who it is, once again cursing the lack of a peephole.

In a repeat from yesterday I’m confronted with Thor’s rippling pectorals encased in the thinnest of thin white linen shirts. On me, that top would be a tent, but on him it’s skin tight.

I step back to let him in. He very lightly squeezes my shoulder as he passes and though a tiny little jolt of that old electric current zips through me, I don’t dwell on it, recognizing the gesture for what it is: an innocent little apology to his kind of tool-ish behavior towards me yesterday.

“Ah, the mighty Thor!” Loki mock announces, sitting up straighter. I can hear the sarcastic condescension in his voice but also genuine, brotherly teasing.

Thor rolls his eyes. He gets straight to the point “Father says your guest will be welcomed.”

I watch Loki’s eyebrow rise in real surprise that he doesn’t even try to mask. “Truly? You are not yanking on my chain, brother? It would be ill advised for you to do so.”

“Yes, truly, Loki. You underestimate Father and how much he cares for you. He misses you.”

Loki looks away. “And I suppose Mother had no part whatsoever in swaying his mind?”

“She did speak up for both of you at first but it was easier for her to convince him than with any of the other point she has pushed in a while. She said so herself.”

Loki scoffs slightly. “Will he be cordial?”

“Of course.”

“And has he only agreed to my terms because I refuse to see him otherwise?”

“Most likely, but Loki, do not expect too much at once. Yes, Father has agreed to your conditions not because he so exceedingly wishes to meet Annie, but because he wishes to see you again. But you cannot expect much more from him for an initial introduction; he has never met her and only discovered her existence two days ago.”

Thor cuts a glance over to me. “I do not mean to offend you. Our father is… stubborn.”

Loki scoffs.

Thor ignores him. “If it helps, our mother is greatly anticipating getting to know you.”

I smile at him to show him that I get it and am not offended. I also see his point and think Loki is being a bit overdramatic. Odin agreed to his terms. For now he can’t expect more. If he winds up hating me just because I’m human… Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I sit down on the edge of the bed beside Loki and press my lips to the back of his shoulder, kissing him there lightly, my fingers kneading the tight muscles, letting him know without words to back down. That I’m okay.

He reads me, as he always does, and the bristling tension leaves him in one go. “Thank you, Thor. For doing all you could to ensure my true happiness upon my return home.”

Thor looks momentarily taken aback by the genuine thanks, but then he smiles. “I hope we can now have a new beginning, brother. We have both made mistakes in our pasts, and those mistakes have pushed us apart. But now, once we return to our home together I hope we shall be able to relearn how to truly be brothers again.”

Loki says nothing in reply but I think the lack of a smart aleck remark constitutes his agreement with Thor’s words more than any affirmative statement of his ever could.

  
My parents come the next day. I’m nervous the entire time from the moment they tell me they’ve embarked on the two hour drive down. Loki and I wait for them on a bench on the Compound grounds. I resort back to writing my communications to him because I’m too high strung to be vocal, and I’m saving it all for my parents. I don’t want my will to speak to fizzle out halfway through their visit. I want to show them how much better I’m doing, maybe overplay it a bit just to reassure them. I’d caused them enough worry.

And so we sit, waiting. We talk about everything under the sun, as usual not at all hindered by my vocal deficit. Whenever I get cold Loki warms me up with magic. I know he knows I’m nervous, and that he understands that getting me to talk about it would only make me more nervous, and so he distracts me instead.

When my parents’ beige Toyota pulls into the long drive I tense up. Loki rubs my shoulders and pulls me against him, kissing the back of my neck. He really likes to kiss that spot; not wet, slobbery, gross, get-a-room type kisses, just sweet, little pecks. Each one sends a jolt of warmth and calm through me, giving me the strength to stand up as their car approaches.

It stops and the door opens. My mother climbs out of the passenger side, her eyes, the same color and shape as mine, fixed on me.

Suddenly I can’t stop myself; my dread and fear evaporates and I tear myself away from Loki and run right into her arms. I don’t slow as I collide with her and she stumbles slightly back against the car. I bury my face in the crook of her neck even though I’m taller than she is. She smells like she always has, like cinnamon, vanilla, and Chanel Number 5. She is warm and soft and I fit exactly into the shape of her arms and body, just as I did when I was a baby and she held me for the first time, and then every single time I hugged her after.

Her soft hand strokes my hair and my back, and she’s whispering to me, but I can’t make out what she’s saying; I’m crying too hard. Happy tears!

The smell of Old Spice reaches my nose and I lift my tear stained face off my mom’s shoulder. My dad stands beside us looking nervous and afraid. I ease out of my mother’s grip and jump into his arms too. He catches me and lifts me bodily off the ground so that my toes just barely still graze the pavement. His relief at me not pushing him away after everything that happened between us is palpable. I try to remember the last time he hugged and held me like this and come up empty. It’s like he was always scared of me, afraid to touch me for some reason, even before _it_ happened.

My mom joins the hug, wrapping her arms around both of us and my dad folds one of his around her. Together we make a perfect triangle.

Suddenly my dad puts me down but keeps ahold of me, looking over my head, and my mom also turns. I twist to look over my shoulder too and see Loki slowly approaching, not wishing to intrude or impose himself into this tender moment of reunion.

My mom breaks away from us and moves towards him. I can see his eyes widen slightly in nervous apprehension, and in that moment I understand that he is a lot more scared than he let’s on. About my parents disapproving of him for whatever reason, not liking him, having found out about his past and who he is from the news (which I don’t think they have) and thinking him a murderer and therefore not a good match for me. He's not quite so nonchalant about these particular humans, though mostly because they are related and connected to me; not out of a general respect for mortality...

I know my mom can be intimidating which is saying something for a 5'2" stout little woman. But when the laser intensity of her gaze is focused on you she literally looks like she’s out to kill, even if she only wants to offer you some cookies. She never really realizes what her face is doing in those moments and how intimidating it is. She also has a habit of not walking lightly, but instead stomping wherever she goes as if the very ground is offending her and must be stepped on hard to be kept in its place. She calls it walking with purpose.

She stops in front of Loki who swallows hard and throws a slightly panicked look at me. I can feel my dad chuckling softly behind me; this isn’t the first time he’s witnessed men much, much taller and stronger than my mother being so thoroughly intimidated by her. But it's fascinating watching this literal god so cowed by the tiny woman. I know he could disintegrate her with a snap of his fingers but I also know he's not going to. I wonder if it would deter my mom any, knowing this? I doubt it.

She reaches up and cradles his face between both her palms. She looks at him for long moments and Loki looks back at her, his face much more open than I’ve ever seen it with anyone but me. He’s letting her search, letting her see what she’s hoping to find. My heart swells.

She grabs his shoulders and pulls him down into her arms. Hesitantly his own wrap around her very lightly. His eyes find mine and I can read confusion in them. He was not expecting this, I know. Was probably expecting to be treated like an extra, a tag-along, a random person on the sidelines of this day. And the fact that this is a human; a mortal who is showing him this compassion… I can tell it throws him, but I can also tell that it’s not in a bad way. He’s not about to run screaming for the hills.

My mom breaks away then captures his hand and tows him along in her wake over to where my dad and I still stand. My dad unwraps his arm from my shoulder and reaches out to shake Loki’s hand.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ellis.” Loki says in that smooth, deep voice that makes my toes curl.

“Dave, please.” My dad says.

“Loki.”

“Loki. That’s an interesting name. Swedish?”

“Nordic.” He says throwing the slightest shadow of a wink.

They wind up staying the whole day. They ask me lots of innocuous little questions nearly combusting with joy every time I answer them aloud instead of just nodding or shaking my head. We have lunch in Tony Stark’s office which he has graciously given us to use so we don’t get interrupted by weird looks and whispers when people see Loki in the cafeteria. My dad nearly passes out from excitement when he meets Tony since he has always been a big supporter of him and his business ventures and career. Later my mom completely fangirls over Steve when he walks into my lab as I’m giving them a tour of my workstation. She keeps caressing his biceps and wide shoulders reverently, which makes my dad and me almost collapse with silent laughter. Steve is a trooper, enduring all of her awkward touches and attentions, and answering all of her rapid fire questions with the patience of a saint. Loki stands in the background smiling.

This is where he spends most of the time; in the background, but still always present. He’s not being awkward or anti-social, he’s trying to give us our family time while staying close and supporting me. I know he isn’t entirely in his comfort zone here, but I can also tell that he’s not actively uncomfortable either. My parents ask him a few questions now and then but focus the brunt of their attention on me. When it’s time for dinner they want to take us somewhere into the city but Loki graciously bows out of joining us. I’m a little apprehensive about being completely alone with them and without him, but I understand why he’s doing it. Again he’s giving us our family time; giving them time with me alone. But I also think that maybe he’s not quite ready to go out into the real world beyond the Compound again because we have no idea how people out there are reacting to the news of him being innocent. And he doesn’t want our family dinner potentially ruined by people hurling abuse and accusations at him, and, by extension, at me and my parents. I know if I begged him, told him I needed him, he would put aside his apprehensions and come with us. But I decide to suck it up. I do need him but I can manage without him for the night. I think…

It turns out that I can, though as soon as we leave the Compound and Loki behind us, my chest tightens in that old way I know so well and that I haven’t actually felt in the last few days since I’d been with him 24/7. But I manage to get through the whole dinner and actually have a good time. I missed my parents, I realize, more than I ever originally thought I did. This is more like how it used to be. Before. The absence of the last member of our family, and what that absence signifies, hangs over us like a dark cloud, but no one acknowledges it. I’m thankful that they don’t ask me any questions I can’t answer, or urge me to do things I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to do. Instead they keep the conversations light and happy, doing a lot of the talking, but still occasionally asking questions and basically bursting with happiness and pride every time I open my mouth and speak aloud.

I also find out that they knew about Loki and who he is and what he did the whole time.

“Well, honey, I thought you said his name was Logan at first, but then I thought that didn’t sound right so I did some digging. And then I remembered… I mean it was all over the news a couple of years ago.” My mom says over her apple pie à la mode.

“But you didn’t say anything? You had no idea that he was innocent; which he is by the way! You didn’t tell me to stop seeing him, or that he was dangerous, or anything…”

My dad reaches across the table and puts his hand on top of mine. “We trusted you, pumpkin nose. You’re smart. You wouldn’t have let this man get so close to you if he wasn’t a good one.”

I smile tightly and nod. Then I brighten. “You know he’d kick your butt for calling him a man. He’s not.”

My dad chuckles, returning to the blueberry pie he and I are sharing. My mom has her own; she says desserts are not meant to be shared. “That’s right, he’s an actual alien. You’re dating someone from outer space, honey.”

I smile, greatly enjoying the fact that more and more people know that Loki and I are together. And so damn thankful that my parents are accepting. It wouldn’t stop me if they weren’t, to be brutally honest, but I’m still relieved because I just started taking steps towards repairing my relationship with them. I don’t want that tarnished by them disapproving of my chosen match in life.

They bring me back to the Compound where we stand hugging for a good ten minutes. They promise to be in touch and ask me if I’d want to visit them at home sometime soon. They say that Melissa misses me.

Melissa. My best friend since childhood who I’d pushed away and refused to see because her guilt was eating her alive and through her, me. I cut her off completely. I need to fix that, if she’ll take me back.

I stand in the driveway waving until I can no longer see their car.

“Are they gone?”

I spin around startled at the sound of a voice behind me. Next second I relax as I see Steve peering around one of the pillars that dot the outside lobby. “Yup.”

“Your mother is relentless.” He comes put of his hiding spot. “Very nice, but relentless.”

“You’re telling me, man. I grew up with her.”

Steve laughs as he joins me, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring out at the not very picturesque Compound driveway. “How are you, Annie?”

I consider. I find myself very much not wanting to lie to this man. “I’m… okay. Considering. Better.”

“Yeah?” he looks sideways at me, perhaps trying to determine if I’m lying.

I nod. “It just takes time, right?” I repeat what he said to me that one time.

One corner of his mouth tilts up. “You know it. But maybe I wasn’t really qualified to give you that particular nugget of advice. I’ve had 70 years of time and I’m still more of a mess than I like to admit.”

“Yea, but you were frozen for most of that time.”

“True…” he nudges me very lightly with his elbow. “Buck’s been asking about you.”

Figures that Steve would have a nickname for his best friend’s nickname! “Yea, I’ve been a little too sore for training lately.”

“He said you’d say that. He also said to tell you that that's no excuse. If you want to become a full fledged Jedi you have to put in the work even when you're hurtin'.”

I giggle. “Yup, that sounds like him. Well you can tell _Dork_ Vader that I’ll be back to kick his ass soon.”

Steve grins. “Will do. And Annie..?” he waits until I’m looking at him. “It’s real good to see you so happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've done the math and as of right now it looks like there'll be about 20ish more chapters of varying length before this story concludes. I really hope that no one looked at that number and went "20??? Is she out of her mind?! Talk about drawing it out." because that's what my brain did. But I have a fair amount of things I still want to happen before we can reach a conclusion I'll be happy with. So I hope you'll stick it out with me. Remember we're going to Asgard soon and lots of stuff will happen there too. Drama, fluff, action, cuteness, further healing. It shall be fun.  
> Thank you for reading this far!!!!


	40. Bathtub Epiphanies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for nightmares, flashbacks, panic about death, anxiety, angst.  
> Maybe very very mild implied smut.  
> Also talking, facing issues, and honesty.  
> Fluff. Yay.  
> And I am so so sorry about "that" part. I think you Loki fans will know it when you come to it. I'm so sowwy! 😔

I make my way back to my room feeling lighter than I have in years. It finally feels like things are falling back into place. Or… no. Not _back_ into place. I don’t think that things can ever really be the way they used to be; that **_I_** can ever truly be the way I used to be again. But things are falling into new places instead. And while it may take a little bit more work to get them to fit there, they fit nonetheless.

Loki is fast asleep when I arrive. I stand for a few minutes watching him snoring softly in my bed. The bruises on his face have completely faded now, the cuts and scrapes totally healed. I’m not sure about the ones on his ribs and spine because those were deeper but I’m sure that they will be all gone by at least the day after tomorrow. When we go to Asgard…

Excitement flutters my heart as well as unease. The same unease that I know Loki felt prior to meeting my parents. What if his parents don't approve of me? In my mind there's so many more reasons for them to deem me an inadequate match for their son than there was for my parents with me and Loki. I’m mortal for one, human, small, weak, not magical. Not a god. What if they take one look at me and laugh?

Loki’s eyelids peel back, his eyes glinting greenly at me. “Hello.”

“Hi.” My voice is slightly hoarse.

He opens his arms in invitation and I crawl into them.

“Did you have an enjoyable time?”

I nod snuggling against his chest.

“They did not ask any questions you did not want them to ask?”

I shake my head.

“Good.”

Something about his tone strikes me as strange and so I lift my head to look at him, tilting it quizzically.

“I asked them not to."

What? When?

“Last night, on the phone. I told them that you were greatly anticipating their arrival but also afraid that they might ask things of you that you could not give. And even though they might want to, to better understand, I asked them to please refrain from voicing these questions, no matter how tempted they were.”

So _that’s_ what he was doing. Always looking out for me. I press my face further into his chest. “Thank you.”

One hand rubs up and down my spine. “Do not mention it at all, love…”

“They knew who you are, by the way. They’ve known the whole time.”

“I know.”

I look up sharply. “You do?”

“Yes. Your mother said as much when she first approached me. She said they did not need the proof of my innocence that is playing on the television these days. How I treated their daughter was proof enough for them.”

“I thought she was just giving you the once over.”

He smiles. “She was doing that as well. Norns, she was examining me like a prize horse. I half expected her to pry open my mouth to examine whether all my teeth were healthy!” But this is said with the kind of gentle exasperation that only an overbearing mother with the best intentions can evoke.

I giggle. “But you liked her? Them?”

“Very much. I admit I was a touch more weary of your father given his past treatment of you, but I know that it too, torments him. And he truly does believe you fully, in case you wondered.”

“You read their minds?” I guess shrewdly.

“I did.” He confirms without any hint of embarrassment or sense that that might be socially unacceptable. But who knows, maybe it is socially acceptable among Asgardian magic users.

I glare at him disapprovingly for a second to which he replies with an even look that tells me he feels no remorse about the action, and would do it again in a heartbeat unless I specifically asked him not to. I give in and sigh, turning onto my back within his hug. “You’re impossible.”

“In what way?” he whispers flirtingly into my ear.

“In every way that drives me crazy!” I answer then reach up to cup his jaw and kiss him.

  
It's one of those weird dreams where you don’t know you’re dreaming while it’s happening, but then after you wake up it becomes incredibly obvious and you ask yourself how in the world you _didn’t_ realize right away that it was a dream.

We’re in my childhood home. My parents are nowhere to be seen; it’s just me and Loki. He’s wearing the green and gold leather armor I saw him wearing ages ago in those secret videos on the Stark server. His two-piece emerald cloak hangs over his shoulders and his horned helmet is under his arm. He’s standing at the mantle looking at all of the pictures that decorate it. I can still see the pictures of my brother there, so this must be _before_ because _after_ my mom took them all down and threw them away, despite my dad’s initial protests.

Suddenly the ground begins to shake beneath my feet. I gasp in fear, looking around wildly, my eyes flying to Loki. He doesn’t appear to even notice that the earth is undulating violently beneath his boots.

The Titan grows out of the very ground; huge and terrifying and for some reason, and despite his size, fitting perfectly into my ridiculously low ceilinged living room.

I try to shout a warning to Loki but no sound comes out of my mouth. Loki doesn’t turn. The Titan stomps towards him and grabs him by the back of the neck, slamming his face down into the corner of the mantel. I scream as Loki goes down, face bloody, but only soundless wheezing comes out of my mouth. The Titan plants a ginormous foot on the back of Loki’s neck then turns to look at me. I try instinctively to back away but my feet are rooted to the floor. I watch in slow motion an Thanos lifts his heavy boot then stomps down with full force on Loki’s neck. The _crack_ of his spine snapping reverberates around the room and I know he’s dead! But still I cannot scream. Horror overwhelms me. He’s dead. He’s dead! Loki is dead!

The Titan starts towards me and I know I’m going to die now too. But I don’t care, can't even bring myself to be afraid of him. Loki is dead!

Three steps from me the monstrous form of the Titan changes and morphs into my brother. His size doesn’t change though, leaving Jacob to tower over me, three times as tall and five times as wide. Now fear for me overwhelms me. He’s going to kill. My own brother is going to kill me, just like I’d been so afraid of he would do back then…

He’s going to kill me…

...kill me...

My eyes snap open to meet two panicking green ones. Loki! He’s leaning over me, shaking me by the shoulders. My mouth is open, strangled wheezing gasps pouring out. No screams. Just like…

Dream. It was a dream. The realizatin dawns slowly and I shake my head like a wet dog to clear the pictures of horror.

Loki's hands cup my cheek, his eyes searching my face. I’m drenched in cold sweat and I feel sticky and gross. My body is shaking violently and tingles curiously all over as if there's ants crawling around in a frenzy underneath my skin, but I’m okay. At least compared to other times I’ve woken up from a nightmare. The strange events coupled with he fact that the dreamscape itself wasn’t real, makes this strangely more bearable than my usual flashback nightmares.

“I need a shower.” I mumble tucking my hair behind my ears.

I can sense Loki reassessing my mood and how to handle it. He tilts his head to the side. “How about a bath?”

My eyes fly to his. A bath? With him? Is he suggesting..? Do I want to..?

He blushes. He actually blushes! “I wasn’t suggesting… I merely meant to reference the fact that a hot bath is infinitely more relaxing than a simple shower. I did not mean that I expected you to bathe with me-"

I reach up to cover his mouth with my hand to stem his flow if words. It’s sweet how he’s trying to prove to me that he wasn’t trying to take advantage, or whatever, but if I’m honest my first reaction to the mental image of him taking a bath with me wasn’t fear, or dread, or any of the feelings I think I should be feeling given my history. It was comfort; a strange sense of 'yes I want to do this with you'. And then came the self doubt. The memories of the fact that I am a rape survivor and shouldn’t all forms of sexual physical contact repulse me and frighten me off? I know I’ve done things with Loki that I could never have imagined myself doing but they were always in highly emotionally charged situations. This instance of taking a bath with him and my reaction; or lack thereof, was so casual that I think it’s knocked me for a loop a bit.

But no matter how I feel I don’t want to push this. I may not be feeling any apprehension at the moment but who knows what may happen when we find ourselves together tangled naked in my bathtub? If I have a belated reaction and I freak out on him it would torment Loki to no end… he would never forgive himself. I would never forgive myself for doing that to him…

But still… I want to do something to show him that I trust him; to show _myself_ that I trust him. I trust him more than anyone but I still want to have an escape clause, if you will, in this plan.

I come out of my whirring thoughts to focus on his face which looks sweetly concerned and confused, and somewhat silly being half covered by my hand the way it is.

I grin. I can feel Loki’s lips moving beneath my palm, reflexively answering the expression on my face with his, though his eyes remain calculated, trying to figure me out.

I try to explain. “I don’t think I’m ready to take a full on bath with you… but can you stay? With me, I mean?”

He tilts his head and I remove my hand. He catches it and holds it in his own. “Whatever you need, love. I will draw the water for you.” He rises pulling my hand up with him. Just before he relinquishes it he kisses my fingers, his eyes staying connected to mine the entire time, scorching with some kind of intensity and meaning. “I will always stay with you!”

He goes into the bathroom and I stay behind sitting on my bed, watching him through the open door. He lets water into the tub and then pours so much soap into it that I might literally drown in bubbles. I get the impression that he hasn’t done this before; has probably had servants doing it for him most of his life. The fact that he's doing it for me now is somehow endearing…

He pokes his head out the door and waves me in. I slowly make my way over to him. He turns off the water. The tub looks incredibly inviting, filled to the brim with frothing bubbles, steam curling up to the ceiling.

Loki turns to leave the room to give me privacy. Suddenly I’m overcome by this strange desire and weird sense of bravery. I reach out and catch his sleeve. When he turns to look back down at me I bite my lip and then before I can overthink and change my mind I lift my arms up above my head.

Loki turns back to face me fully. He leans forward looking at me intently. I smile and nod.

Loki licks his lips slowly and languidly. Then he reaches out and takes hold of the hem of my shirt. Slowly, so, so slowly, giving me time to change my mind he lifts it up, peeling it off my body. He discards it behind him keeping his eyes on mine. I step closer to him as he puts his arms around me. My hands come down to rest on his biceps as he deftly unhooks my bra.

One of his hands glides down my spine, his other one tilts my chin up when I lower my gaze bashfully.

He's still keeping his eyes on mine instead of my boobs and I can imagine the herculean self control he's employing. I smile slightly then reach down to slip my panties off. Then I then take a step back, giving him permission to look at me.

His eyes stay on mine just a moment longer, assessing me. Then they drop as he takes me in. I stand still, letting him look. My insides quiver with nerves. I’m not afraid of him or that he’ll do anything to me. I’m more nervous that he’ll somehow find me lacking.

But I needn’t have worried. His eyes are soft and tender, but at the same time avid and hungry; hooded and heavy lidded with lazy desire. He doesn’t have to say it but under his gaze I feel beautiful. I feel treasured, safe and protected.

He walks slowly in a circle around me, his fingertips whispering ever so lightly over my skin, though only in PG places. When he reaches my front again he takes my face between his palms, tilting it up and kissing my forehead long and lingering. "You are the most wonderous sight to behold in all the Nine Realms." He whispers.

I flush at the compliment, forcing my mind to accept it instead of automatically deciding that it can't be true and that he's biased. 

My traitorous human body shivers slightly as the cold winter breeze from my open bedroom window wafts into the bathroom. I slip away from Loki and clamber into the bathtub, sliding into the bubbles letting the warm water envelop me. Loki follows and crouches down beside me, reaching into the water, fishing for my hand. He tangles his fingers with mine. “What were you dreaming about, love?” he asks gently.

I swallow hard. My nightmare comes back in flashes. Loki. Thanos. Being unable to scream. That crack of Loki’s neck breaking. My brother. All the traumatizing things I’ve been through sickeningly combined into one ultimate nightmare.

Loki. Dead. As much as the rest of the dream may have been strange and random in its horrors, that part will not leave my brain. Because it was almost so very real. So many times. The pictures flash into my mind: the monster with the sword about to behead him, Thanos torturing to kill, Thanos walking towards us, falling hundreds of feet from the flying Ferris Wheel towards the ground, Loki puking up blood, Dylan and that knife…

And now I have a picture of how it might have actually looked; him dead. Face pale, paler than normal; ashy and grey, eyes glassy and lifeless, body still and unmoving, sunken in on itself and looking somehow smaller in death…

That part of my dream could have been a reality so many times over and I feel this realization catch up to me belatedly. I’m helpless to stop the tide of despair and fear as it smashes into me with the force of a tsunami.

I just sit here in this water, the temperature of which I can no longer feel, with Loki, who I can no longer see, beside me, speaking calming words that I can no longer hear.

The waters of my mind close over my head and I am drowning in that mental ocean of helplessness and despair, screams in Loki's voice sounding in my ears again.

  
I start coming back to myself slowly. The first thing I register is the feeling of Loki’s fingers sifting through my hair, massaging shampoo into my skull. My body starts to relax in increments. My eyes slide closed as my brain accepts what my heart already knows. I’m safe here. I'm safe with Loki. Loki is safe too. He’s not dead. He's not dead!

Very gently he tips my head back and starts to rinse the suds out of my hair. It feels incredibly nice.

"Are you back with me, love?"

I nod.

"Thank the Norns. Where did you go?"

"Nowhere good..."

He silently accepts this and doesn’t push for more details, and I’m glad. “Loki?”

He pauses, lowering the showerhead. “Say that again.”

“Loki?”

“Yes.”

“Loki. Why?”

“I shall never grow tired of you saying my name.”

Oh. Well then… “Looookiiiii,” I sing-song softly reaching up with one wet finger to trace his sharp cheekbone. “Loki, Loki, Loki.”

He smiles sweetly. “What did you want to ask me?”

I pause, wondering if I can ask this right now. It seems like it might be too heavy especially after I just spaced out the way I did. But his calm face and gentle eyes urge me onwards. “Is it easier?”

“Is what?”

“Me talking now. Is it easier for you to understand me?”

“Oh, love.” His hands splash into the water. “I always understood you, at the same time as you were always the biggest mystery I’d ever encountered. You still are. And it has nothing to do with you being silent, or you speaking aloud, or you only writing your words to me. You have always been a mystery to me.”

“Because I wouldn’t tell you what happened to me.” I say knowingly.

“No.” his hand reaches up to push the sopping hair back off my forehead. “I think I’ve known for a long time. Part of my not acknowledging it was me not wanting you hurt further, the other part was because I did not want to admit it to myself because imagining you going through _that_ was too horrible. Darling, your mystery comes from you, from your humanity, from your strength and your fragility, from this mind of yours that works in such fascinating ways, and, above all, from the way you see me. You are unfathomable to me. You always have been in the best possible of ways.”

I look at him, thinking. He let’s me look but doesn’t meet my gaze back, his own instead focused on where his hand clasps mine, playing absently with my fingers. I think back to the night we fought. It's the first time I’m able to do so without feeling completely humiliated and ashamed for what I did that caused the whole thing. For the first time I’m able to take a step back from my rioting feelings, which have calmed down somewhat, and look at what went down from an outside perspective.

It becomes pretty clear what happened. Both Loki and I had been through hell, we’d both been traumatized, we’d both thought we were going to die and even worse, that we’d have to watch the other be killed right in front of our eyes. So we were both feeling pretty raw. My actions from that night were the perfect spark to ignite those powder kegs that were our feelings.

I think I’d known that much before but what I never really realized is Loki’s side to all this. Because to me he always seems so in control, so focused and precise, so capable and in charge of himself. I know he has his own trauma, past, and nightmares but still; unlike me he’s able to wake up from a bad dream and still focus all of his attentions on another's well being. I am not able to do so. He just seems so much more healed than I am. But he’s not, I realize. Or maybe he is, just in different ways. In other ways he's still just as broken as I am, maybe more in some.

Because healing isn't linear, it’s not the same for everyone. I’d made the mistake of comparing myself to Loki and taking my own progress, or sometimes lack thereof, and holding it up beside his expecting a mirror image.

And I hadn’t taken into account his own personality which obviously differs from mine. I’d pushed trigger points in him inadvertently because I thought he had none, since they weren’t necessarily the same as my own…

I flip our usual roles and tilt his chin up with my fingers. He meets my eyes, his own so unbearably soft and warm that it almost makes the water seem cold by comparison. “I’m sorry.” I say looking deep into his eyes.

He frowns in confusion. “Whatever for now, love?”

“For that night. And before you say that I don’t need to be sorry, yes I do. I should have come to you. I shouldn’t have pushed you away after. I should have realized that you weren’t some unbreakable obelisk of strength purely there for my disposal. You'd been through shit too, the same as me in those last few hours, and more, and I should have realized that you were just as affected as me, mentally, even if you don’t show it in the same ways as I do.”

He nods slowly. “I was hurting. But I chose to hide it from you because I believe that what you need above all from me is my strength. And my ability to be in control at all times.”

“I do need that and I value it. It centers me. But you don’t have to be strong all the time. Sometimes it’s okay to let me carry the weight. And even if I can't you don’t have to carry it and break your own back. It’s like you said, we can be broken together because just the fact that we’re together makes us stronger.”

He lifts my hand out of the water and presses the wet palm to his cheek. “So wise, my love. So true. I have been raised for so long to always keep control because those who raised me were so certain that my heritage would warrant me turning into a monster if I did lose it.”

My heart crackles again at this. He's been told for so long that what he is is wrong, is unnatural, dangerous; a monster. And it’s just not true! It pisses me off!

He keeps talking. “I should have been honest with you about how I felt. About my confusions, but I never wanted you to be afraid to feel like you needed to censor or second guess your actions around me the way you do with others and in all aspects of your life, because I can sense that need of yours to have someone where it wasn’t necessary. Someone you trusted beyond all else.”

“I do trust you beyond all else. But you don’t have to second guess yourself either and walk on eggshells around me all the time. Maybe if you’re a bit less cautious something will occasionally trigger me but nothing you could potentially do is gonna scare me off now. You’re stuck with me.”

“There is no one I would rather be stuck with.” He says smiling, lowering my hand to his mouth and kissing my fingertips.

I study him, thinking about what he just said and how true it is, and how I factor into that truth. He's right, I always think he knows exactly what to do but this is just as new to him. He's never had to take care of and care for a broken, fixing herself human woman. No matter what else he's done in his life, the battles he's fought, the planets he's seen, the kingdom he ruled as a prince, everything out of this world and alien that’s been a part of his long, long, _long_ life would have been very different from this. And so he's actually guessing just as much as I am, just as much in the dark as me. He's good at the guessing; he's got like a thousand years of life experience, but still, underneath that he's just as up the creek without a paddle as me. And I’ve never actually even considered how scary that must be for him.

He hates losing control, has had it drilled into him so excessively that if he does, it will have terrible consequences. And as a result when he does lose control he’s humiliated by it, he's furious with himself, and he brings about some of those horrible consequences with his own reactions of anger, shame, and self hatred. I understand that part. I do it too.

We’ve moved so fast emotionally and physically, faster than I ever could have imagined myself moving with anyone especially _after._ ln fact it's bound to seem even faster to Loki because while six months is six months in my 21 year old human brain, in Loki's 1207 year old alien brain six months probably seems more like 6 days. No wonder he's automatically slammed up walls between us every time we got physical and there was any sort of intense turmoil inducing emotion between us. Unlike on my birthday when all there was was happiness and love. Every other time there was something bad hovering between us; my nightmares, my cutting, his torture… No wonder we’d both freaked out!

But still, there's no one else I would rather have come this far with than Loki, no one else I think I ever _could_ have come this far with. I mean I just let him take my clothes off and let him see me completely naked while he was still fully dressed. Barely a week ago I’d thought that would be impossible, that I’d feel way too vulnerable and scared like that because being bare while he wasn’t is an incredible power imbalance in my mind since _that_ night I was naked while _they_ were fully dressed, only opening their flies enough to have at me…

But with Loki… I’d felt the power that I’d given him voluntarily over me, felt his natural dominance as I submitted. But I hadn’t been scared. I’d been shy under his hungry gaze but that wasn’t the same thing. Because I’d realized distantly that even while this constituted an act of submission it was also dominance on my part. Because **_I_** was allowing Loki to look at me. He wasn’t forcing me to let him look. And that gave me as much of the power as I gave to him.

My god, this is liberating! I guess it’s true what they say; you always have your biggest relevations and epiphanies in the shower!

“Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s never forget that night.”

He tilts his head at me in question, asking me to explain.

“It was shitty, and we both fucked up but I think in retrospect I learned more about you and about myself than I ever would have if it had never happened. I do regret certain things but I’m starting to understand that we can’t go backwards. We can only accept them… and move on in spite of them. And sometimes we can learn from them.”

He smiles. “When you put it that way, love. No, let us not forget it. But let us also not dwell on it. As you say it happened and we can use the experiences to ascertain that it never happens again.”

I nod. “Okay. And you’ll promise to ask me if you’re not sure about what I need or want or I’m being cryptic. I don’t mean to be. I don’t want you bumbling around in the dark. I want to be lighted up for you.”

He pulls me down towards him and kisses my forehead. My eyes slide closed. “You are my light, love. I promise.”

“You know I love you. Just a little.”

“Only a little?” He pulls back grinning crookedly at me.

“Yup. Only to the moon and back.”

“Well I love you all the way to Asgard and back.”

I laugh and splash him with soapy water. “Sweet talker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea, so again I'm so very sorry about the Thanos breaking Loki's neck part. At least it was only in a dream... I put it in there because well... we all know what it felt like to see that happen, so we'd be able to relate to Annie's feelings. I'm sorry please dont hate me!  
> And other than that they hashed out some of the things theyd been pushing down since their fight which hopefully can only mean more healing. We're almost off to Asgard now. 🛸 (spaceship emoji cause theres no bifrost or Heimdall emoji.)


	41. Boom, Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a cheeky chapter but it was really fun to write. I enjoy stuffing Loki into these mortal situations like watching movies on a laptop and imagining how he would react. First half was kind of important I think for keeping Loki's character, because I have very little trouble picturing him doing this...  
> Anyway, loads of fluff up ahead and a lot of cuteness.  
> Enjoy

I’m walking back to my room from Tony’s office. I’d just gone to see him to request some time off from him since I’m quite decidedly going to be out of the country for a while starting tomorrow. Off world, in fact.

Tony readily gave me the time off even though I apologized profusely a million times not feeling at all deserving of it since I’ve only been here for a couple of months. But he waved away my apologies and told me that I’d earned it. And that in either case it would have probably been at least two weeks before he would have let me get back to work after what happened.

I’d thanked him sincerely and he’d told me to have fun and not let the Asgardians intimidate me. I’d told him that that might be difficult and he’d laughed but comforted and surprised me by saying that Loki would never let any of them mess with me in any way.

It’s as I’m heading back to my room now that I see it out of one of the windows. Agent Brenner is running around on the grounds down below chasing a bunch of papers. There’s not a wisp of wind blowing but every time he’s close to catching one of them it blows a few more meters away. I stand and watch him lunge around, cursing up a storm down there for a few minutes, feeling grim satisfaction as well as confusion. Suddenly a sneaking suspicion enters my mind and my head turns to look down the hallway towards my room, then back out this window.

A grin plays around my face as I make my way to my room and sure enough; Loki is standing at my window, his fingers drawing little flicking gestures in the air, green trails of magical sparks following their every move.

I step up beside him to see the same view I saw a few moments ago of Agent Brenner desperately chasing after his paperwork. Loki cuts his eyes to me without turning his head. They sparkle with a merry, impish light as he, even without looking, let’s Agent Brenner’s fingers just barely graze one of the pieces of paper before another gust of nonexistent wind rips it away from him.

I laugh as he howls his frustration down below. “So what are you up to?” I tease bumping his shoulder lightly with mine.

“Mischief.” He says and hes honest to god giggling with malicious glee. “None better to practice it on than humans, especially that particular example of pond scum.”

I huff a laugh. “what is it with you and mischief?”

“God of.” He reminds me, winking.

“Well, no one more deserving of a bit of fuckery than that lowlife, you’re right.” I say leaning forward to get a better view of Agent Brenner’s well deserved torment. Others have also stopped outside to watch, some pointing, some laughing, but no one coming to help. I guess Agent Douche-canoe isnt as popular as he probably wishes he was. “How long have you been at it?”

“Oh, for about ten minutes I’d wager.” Loki answers lightly. “Watch this.”

The non existent wind dies down as all the papers stop fluttering about. I see momentary relief on Agent Brenner’s face before it is replaced by a look of utter horror. He swats wildly at the air in front of him, then does it again. And again.

I frown confused, looking at Loki who’s holding one hand out in front of him, the palm glowing with dim green light. “What is it? What are you doing?”

“Casting an illusion that only he can see.” He flexes his fingers and Agent Brenner bellows down below, his movements getting more frenzied as he stumbles backwards away from whatever it is Loki is planting in his brain.

“What are you making him see?”

“Bees.”

Oh. I thought it might have been something truly terrifying like the Megalodon out of water, although I guess a swarm of angry bees buzzing wildly around your head is its own horror show.

“Are you hurting him?”

“No, simply frightening him. Why? Would you like me to have them sting him?”

I consider for the barest fraction of a second, the image of Dylan with that knife poised over Loki’s chest flashing through my mind. But then I push it away. I’m not that malicious! “No.”

Loki sighs, sounding slightly disappointed. “Very well. But how about this?”

His other hand begins to glow and suddenly all the people gathered in the courtyard watching Agent Brenner’s antics with confusion start getting identical looks of glazed horror on their faces, right before they too, start swiping at the empty air.

My face scrunches up and I grab Loki’s arm. “Loki, no.”

He gives a tiny, almost imperceptible movement of his shoulder as if he were shrugging me off. I look at his face and see it is a mixture of glee, as well as a dark joy of being back in possession of his abilities. I understand it; he's been without his magical talents for so long that now that he gets to use them again it's practically making him drunk. He's also the god of mischief, as he said and therefore trickery, pranks, and practical jokes are in his blood. Couple that with his inbred natural contempt for humanity as a whole, and you get this scene. But just because I get it doesn’t mean that I’ll let him get away with it. Especially not with shrugging me off though I’m pretty sure that that was unintentional. I slug him hard on the shoulder.

His head turns to me, the grin sliding from his face when he sees my scowl. “Stop it!”

He blinks hard, then lowers his hands. The people outside stop their dancing, looking around themselves confused. I turn back to Loki who’s looking at me with a perplexed expression on his handsome face.

“Have I upset you, love?”

“Yes. You can’t just do that!”

“It was only a bit of harmless fun.”

“Not so harmless. Bees are fucking scary. And bee stings hurt. Even a single one, not to mention dozens. I know you said that your illusionary bees weren’t actually stinging but it’s still terrifying to have like a hundred of them swarming your face because you’re gonna expect them to sting you. Not to mention that some people are allergic to their stings.”

“Wait, are you telling me that humans can actually be allergic to the little devils?”

“Yea. Like really, really allergic. They could die. Can you imagine how terrifying it would be to be surrounded by a swarm of them then?”

He throws a sideways glance out the window.

“Look, I know you’re a prankster and I have nothing against harmless pranks. But don’t hurt people or mime like you’re gonna hurt them. I’m not gonna be on board with that, especially if they’ve done nothing to you to warrant it.”

He looks back at me, his face strangely aloof. “I cannot help that you are so much more fragile.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to help it. If you wanna play a trick on a human just imagine doing it to me first. If you can do it to me and know it won’t hurt me then go for it; fuck with them. But if you think it would, or could, hurt me then don’t do it to anyone else either.”

“But I care about you; I do not care about them.”

I shrug. “I know… and I’m not saying you have to love everyone or even like them. But you should still at least respect them.”

“I do not care about respecting humanity. Only you.”

“Well, you can’t. You can’t respect me if you don’t respect all humanity. Because I am human! That doesn’t change no matter how you feel about it. So you either respect all of us or none of us.”

I watch his jaw working as he digests this. He throws another look out the window at the people still milling confusedly about. When he turns back to me his eyes are speculative. I hold my breath.

“Very well,” he says with the smallest of almost imperceptible eye rolls. “No more malicious tricks on mortals.”

I breathe out in relief stepping into him to hug him lightly. “Thank you.”

“Yes, yes.” But he kisses the top of my head lightly. “I apologize for upsetting you.”

For upsetting _me._ Not for upsetting like a dozen others. I shake my head slightly. He’s incorrigible. But I guess this constitutes a start. “I forgive you.”

I disengage from his arms and move back to the window watching the small crowd slowly disperse, still throwing cautious looks around. I incline my head to the side watching one of them in particular. “Hey Loki?”

“Yes, love?” his voice is absent, and I know that even though he won’t admit it I’ve given him lots to consider.

“About those bees..?”

“Yes.” With his interest re-piqued he joins me at the window.

I point downwards. “He wasn’t included in my category of humans-to-respect.”

The wide grin spreads almost comically slowly across Loki’s face as he looks at me for confirmation.

I nod.

Down below Agent Brenner starts shrieking again, dropping all of the papers he’d finally collected, and hot-footing it across the grounds, flailing his arms wildly at nothing.

  
We settle down with my laptop again. When I suggest watching the next _Star Wars_ movie Loki confesses that he watched it last night while I was out at dinner with my parents.

I gasp dramatically. “You watched it without me?!”

He makes a scrunched up _oops_ face that very clearly shows no remorse whatsoever.

“How dare you. I shall never forgive you!”

“Never?”

“Never!”

He chuckles. “Not even if I do this?” he kisses and nibbles on the side of my neck.

“No!”

“Not even if I do _this?”_ He captures my chin and turns my face towards him leaning in to kiss the corners of my lips.

“M-mm.”

“How about this?” His lips land squarely on mine kissing me with a passion as slow and thick and sweet as syrup.

“Never.” I mumble against his lips.

Suddenly he flips me onto my back, holding my wrists lightly restrained above my head in one hand. His other hand travels down my side torturously slowly. He leans over me, letting his forehead rest against mine, our noses touching, our breaths mingling. His eyes are hooded. “This?”

“Getting there…” I pant as his fingers leave trails of fire through the thin fabric of my shirt.

“Mm, and how about this?” he whispers right before his lips seal themselves once more over my panting ones. They’re parted with my heavy breathing so it’s only to easy for him to slip his tongue inside.

He kisses me so thoroughly until I’m sure I’ve left my physical body behind and am floating somewhere in Nirvana. He takes his time exploring every part of my mouth, savoring me, until I’m dizzy, and not just from a lack of oxygen. When he draws back he’s completely composed and unruffled while I’m gasping and disheveled, my wild eyes practically begging for more.

“How about now?” he breathes in my ear like the devil himself.

“Okay,” I pant. “but only because it’s you.”

“Excellent.” He rises off me scooping me up and dumping me in his lap.

I turn around to look at him nose to nose, slightly disoriented. “That’s it?”

“You forgave me, did you not?” the cheeky twinkle in his eyes tells me that he knows exactly what he’s doing to me by getting my all excited with that panty-combusting kiss, and then leaving me hanging.

Well, two can play that game. “Yes. Yes, I did.” I say while innocuously wiggling my butt in his lap right over his crotch. He hardens with surprising swiftness and I hear him draw in a sharp breath behind me. A wicked grin spreads across my face.

One of his large hands slides around me , wrapping itself around my throat with the lightest of touches, applying no pressure at all, but leaving me with its vaguely threatening and mildly erotic weight anyway.

“Do not play games with me, little mortal.” He whispers in my ear, that smooth British slide of his voice making me squirm. “You will not win against me.”

I know he’s being absolutely serious, but teasing at the same time. He won’t hurt me, won’t ever take it too far. He knows me better than I know myself, and even if I were to unwittingly push my own limits, he would stop us. I know him. I trust him!

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I say innocently, though my breath hitches slightly in excitement when the movement of my throat that comes from me talking, tightens his fingers ever so slightly. “I’m just getting ready to watch a movie with you.” And I tighten and relax my butt muscles as I say this.

His hot breath blows over the side of my face. His hand shifts up from my throat to cup my chin tipping it backwards until I’m looking up at the ceiling, my head resting on his shoulder.

He winds himself around me like a snake, then ever so lightly scrapes his teeth down my jugular from right below where his fingers hold my chin, all the way to the hollow of my throat. He presses the flat of his tongue to the wildly pulsing vein in the side of me neck, showing me that he knows exactly how wild he’s making me for him.

Tit for tat, Odinson! I turn my head in the confines of his hold and he let’s me even though he could easily stop me, telling me that he’s enjoying this game just as much as I am. I bite my way lightly along the underside of his jaw until I reach his ear. I capture his lobe between my teeth and tug.

He growls. I jump a little bit on instinct and his hands soothe me. The one at my face smoothing his thumb over my cheek, the one on my side kneading my hip.

“About that movie…” I whisper in his ear.

“Start it already.” He answers.

Damn. I was hoping he’d say screw the movie, let’s screw instead, or something along those lines. But apparently he’s not going to let me get my way so easily.

I have no idea where this wanton side of me is coming from, having never actually met her before. But I like it. It feels so good to not be afraid and weary of human touch for once, and it feels doubly good because that touch is Loki’s; even though that mean it’s not human. Which actually makes it even better!

I fish for my laptop, arching my back in an over exaggerated way that practically sticks my butt right into Loki’s face. He delivers a slight swat to it that makes me squeal at the sting and sit back down on it abruptly, looking at him with wide eyes.

He grins at me, twitching his eyebrows, daring me to complain. A small smile teases my lips and he pokes my nose. “May I propose a truce until the completion of this movie?”

I bite my lower lip suggestively, watching his eyes flare in response. “I guess.”

“Or we could simply… watch it at a later date.”

I feel bubbles of triumph burst inside my chest, but now I want to give him a taste of his own medicine. I pout. “But it’s my favorite movie. I really want to show it to you.” Kind of true, but I mostly just want to torture him.

He gives me a long look that says he knows exactly what I’m doing, then heaves a long slow breath. “I must be mad for agreeing to this. Very well, go.” He adjusts me on his lap and I press play.

I wiggle my butt again pretending to get comfortable and his fingers on my hips tighten. “Behave.” He admonishes.

I smile, still feeling his arousal pressing into my backside. Then I lean back into him as David Hartely's _Perfect World_ starts playing and I get ready to enjoy _The Emperor's New Groove_ for about the 100th time in my life.

  
“Well I can see why you wanted to show that to me.” Loki says as I snap my laptop closed upon the completion of the movie. “I found Kuzco very relatable.”

“Really?” I twist around in his arms. “You’re secretly a llama?”

He throws me a look. “Come now, love. Enigmatic, royal, powerful, charismatic... How can you not see the similarities?!”

I squint at him. “I actually think you’re more like Yzma.” I say, then attempt to scramble from the bed trying to escape the retaliation I’m sure that comment will bring.

I’m too slow; Loki’s arms loop around my middle, snagging me easily out of my attempted flight. “I beg your pardon?” he growls into my ear.

“Grumpy, devious, a diva… Clearly you’re Yzma. No! Stop!” I squeal with laughter as Loki tosses me onto my back and starts digging his fingers into my sides, tickling me.

“Take it back!”

“Never!” I laugh, writhing beneath his merciless assault.

“Oh, I was hoping you would say that!” he says swinging himself atop me to straddle my hips, his fingers really getting to work. “You will yield!” he says in that voice I recognize as his regal one used to deliver princely orders.

“Aaaaah. Noooo. Stoooop!” I scream laughter, bucking my hips wildly trying to dislodge him. In vein. He’s as unmoving as a boulder.

“Surrender!”

“I’d rather eat monkeys!”

He laughs at that strange exclamation, tickling harder. My head tosses from side to side as tears of mirth pour down my face. He’s relentless.

“Alright, alright. I give. I yield. I surrender. Whatever. _Uncle!”_

He let’s off, a proud grin stretching his face, and sits lightly back on my stomach, putting the barest minimum of his weight on me. “Who am I?”

“You’re a mighty llama, Emperor Kuzco!”

His fingers wriggle into my ribs again, but just long enough to make me shriek anew. Then he rests his weight on his hands on either side of my head, and leans down into my face kissing my nose. “if I _am_ Yzma then you are my Kronk.”

“Why, because I’m a lovable idiot?” I grin up at him.

“No, because you are loyal, and supportive of me no matter what I do, and no matter how horrible and misguided. You try your best to make me better.”

“I’m also very adept at pulling levers!”

He grins and kisses me. “Wrong lever.” He says against my lips.

“Why do we even have that lev _-eek!”_ my reply is cut short by Loki flipping us back around so I’m sitting astride him now.

He runs his hands down my sides. “You are infinitely more intelligent than Kronk.”

“And you’re way better looking than Yzma.” He shakes his head, chuckling, as he pulls my face down to kiss me again in a way that makes fireworks explode behind my eyes, and that makes that kiss from before seem like barely a lame intro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really trying to balance a line where I show Annie to be healing slowly but I also dont want it to look as if everything is just getting better with the snap of a finger. I'm not sure if I'm missing that mark though... I think it would be a sure thing that she's getting more and more comfortable around Loki but sometimes i wonder if it's too much too fast all of a sudden and if she seems almost too healed now that shes talking again... i dunno. What do you think?  
> Also, I know I've been promising this for the past twenty million chapters but NEXT CHAPTER is off to Asgard. And Frigga and Odin. The Allfather had better watch his allfatherly ass if he decides to be pissed at Loki. Lol. I already have that chapter written and I really like it so I cant wait to post it soon. Anyhoo. That's it from me. I'll try my best to update the next few days though I dont know if I'll be able to since I'm going to the Supernatural Convention in my city so I'll be busy. But I'll try!  
> Thanks for reading!!!  
> PS. the inspiration for the Emperors New Groove thing came from the all posts that compare various avengers to that cast. Do yourself a favor and go to Google and type in "avengers emperors new groove" into image search. You might just die laughing... also I just had to make the chapter title what it is because it pleases me to imagine loki making an entrance a la Kuzco like that!  
> K, I'm out!


	42. Asgard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As that rather boring ass title suggests: Welcome to Asgard. 🏰  
> TRIGGER WARNINGS for some anxiety and a bit of angst. Other than that I hope you like this chapter that been a long time coming now.  
> Also you will see that I have been mean and that I denied you the smut. I have implied it but I have denied it. It just felt better this way with some cute little memories for the story. There will be more explicitness later on though I think...

When I awake the next morning Loki is already up. My bathroom door is closed and I can hear the shower running behind it. I stretch luxuriously, imagining him in there In my shower. Soapy. Wet. Naked…

I blush slightly pressing my palms to my heated cheeks. Images from last evening flash into my mind. I knew I’d be in for it after all of my teasing, but I also knew that Loki would be gentle and careful, and that he wouldn’t take it to far. But, oh god, I should have remembered that he’s _a god_ and that he has like twenty times the stamina I have. To say I’m shattered, even after about eight hours of sleep is an understatement.

But it had been a departure. Each time we had done _anything_ up to now it had been slightly frenzied, fueled by emotion a little bit—or a lot, crazed with lust and need. This time had been slow and easy. Loki had taken his sweet time worshipping every inch of my body with his hands and his lips until I’d practically been begging him for more. And even then he had waited until he decided _he_ was ready to take me, at his leisure. I’d seen stars.

He comes out of the bathroom with a towel slung low around his lips. I can’t help but stare at him, taking in the full picture he makes, starting my perusal at his feet and traveling up his legs, the whipcord muscles that sheath the long bones of his calves and thighs bunching slightly as my eyes traverse them, then up, up, up over his tightly laced abs, his slim though muscular chest, his strong shoulders… By the time my eyes reach his face I’m practically drooling and he’s watching me with one graceful eyebrow arched high. “Good morning.” He says his voice low, and slow, and husky.

“Hi,” I squeak, suddenly feeling inexplicably shy again. He saunters towards me and I pull the blankets up over my nose leaving only my eyes visible to him.

He chuckles as he sinks down onto the edge of the bed, stroking his hand over my forehead. “Are you excited?”

“Hmm?”

“For our trip? My brother will meet us in about two hours.”

Oh. Right. Our trip. We’re going to Asgard. I think I pale as the nerves strike me.

Loki of course notices and tugs the blanket away from my face. “You are worried.”

I nod.

“Why, love?”

“What if they don’t like me?”

“Then I will whisk you off to a location much more grand than even Asgard, where the inhabitants will know how to appreciate you properly.”

“Be serious.”

“I am. Listen, love; I can guarantee that my mother will adore you. My father… if he opens his mind he will like you also. If he is the way I most remember him, he will tolerate you but treat you cordially. If he is the way I last saw him… Well, let me just say I already have an alternate location in mind which to spirit you away to.”

I swallow hard. “I want him to like me…”

“If he does not, love, then that will be his fault. Not yours.” He bends over me, kissing my forehead before he strokes the backs of his fingers down my cheek. “and if he doesn’t that will be his loss entirely.”

I give him a wavering smile which he returns full force. “Now, how do you feel? I fear I may have been a touch too... ah… _voracious_ for your mortal form last night…”

I blush crimson. “I’m fine.”

A teasing smile plays around his lips as he again strokes the backs of his fingers down my red hot cheek. “Look at you, my love. I have scandalized you.”

I blush harder.

He captures my chin and leans down to kiss me. Right before his lips touch down on mine he whispers, “Such an exquisite creature you are…”

When he's thoroughly satisfied that he’s kissed me well into next week, he rises. “I require a shirt.”

“Why?” I ask cheekily and slightly breathless, my eyes dropping down to his sculpted chest. “I think you should go just like this.”

He gives me a look. “Ah, yes. Face the king of Asgard nearly in the nude. I am sure that would endear me greatly in his eyes.”

“It endears you greatly in mine.”

“Mm, as it should. However we shall most likely be redressed in traditional Asgardian clothing before we get taken before _his eminence._ ” The last words are spit with barely contained disdain.

“Don’t let him piss you off on my account.” I say sitting up straight, wrapping the blanket around my naked body. “Get pissed for yourself, sure. But not for me, okay? You have more to be annoyed with him than I do. If he doesn’t like me; fine, I’ll deal, but if he’s still being a dickhead to you then let him have it. Or I just might.”

Loki’s head tilts to the side. “You are talking about confronting the God of War here, little one.” He says softly, that last a gentle reminder of my own mortality.

“And if he has a go at you I’m gonna turn into the Goddess of Pissed Off-ness. He can be the god of all the wars he likes.”

Loki smiles. “I do so adore your protectiveness over me, my darling.”

“Even though you don’t need it.”

“I need every part of you and all you deign to offer me.” His eyes burn with intensity for a moment before he turns back to contemplating my dresser. “Now: shirt.”

“Bottom drawer. Any one of those should fit you.” I say directing him toward my collection of oversized band t-shirts.

He rifles around and pulls out a faded Ziggy Stardust shirt. “May I?”

“Knock yourself out.” I say, mentally comparing him to the goblin king. _You remind me of the babe…_

I smile secretly to myself as he walks back into my bathroom, my eyes dropping to his backside which, even beneath the towel, flexes superbly with every step. I can’t keep a softly whispered “damn" from escaping me.

“I heard that.” He says, closing the bathroom door behind him as I drop face first back onto my bed, burying my embarrassedly flaming face in my pillow. I can hear him laughing behind the closed door.

Two hours later we stand outside the Compound waiting for Thor. I’m shivering slightly and Loki has me folded into his arms, his hands rubbing up and down my back to warm me. He told me not to dress too heavily because on Asgard it would be warmer. I guess he didn’t count on his brother being late.

“I should have known that he would not be punctual.” He grumps. “He so rarely is.”

Thor chooses that precise moment to burst through the front doors, his red cape aflutter, hammer in one hand. “My apologies for the delay.” He huffs.

Loki rolls his eyes in every conceivable direction but doesn’t comment. “Shall we go?”

“Yes, have you informed Annie about the mechanics of travelling via Bifrost? It does not always do the stomach good the first time.”

“I have briefed her. She knows to hold onto me and to close her eyes so she does not feel queasy. Right, love?”

I nod, then tug at his sleeve. He bends down so I can whisper into his ear. “I’m still disappointed you haven’t chartered the Millennium Falcon for our cross-universal travels.”

Loki grins. “You know I would much prefer the Death Star.”

I smile back, then see Thor’s confused face which makes me smile even more. Loki holds me closer and I push my face into his chest. I have no idea what to expect. Loki has told me that the Bifrost is a burning rainbow bridge that connects the other realms to Asgard. From what I’ve gathered it’s basically an Einstein-Rosen Bridge that’s gonna let us travel through space at an incredibly fast rate because the Asgardians have somehow managed to harness its power and use it to their needs.

Loki describes it as magic. I call it science.

Thor shouts in a thundering voice for the gateway to be opened. My fingers tighten in Loki’s shirt while his arms tighten around me. A quick peek upwards shows him to be looking up at the sky his face lit with half apprehension, half anticipation.

It’s as if the skies themselves open, spilling beams of multicolored light, bright and looking sharp as glass fibers, down at us. I stare as they begin to surround us. Static raises my hair. Then all of a sudden we are being sucked upwards at incredible speeds. I shriek in surprise as the earth falls away beneath my feet and cling to Loki tighter. He notices that I’m looking and pushes my face back into his chest.

I smash my eyes closed and some of the feelings of vertigo subside. I no longer feel like I’m quite literally hurtling through time and space; instead I just feel like I’m standing in a wind tunnel. A really strong wind tunnel! There’s a rushing sound like a million huge wings flapping, all around me and what almost sounds like a tinkling glass wind chime or something…

Way faster than I believe it could have ever taken, it stops. The rushing dies down as does the feeling of being buffeted by tornadoes from all sides. I don’t lift my head out of Loki’s chest though, suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that when I do, I will see that I have just traveled millions of light years through _space_ and am on _another planet!!!_

Loki's hand strokes my hair. “You can look now, love. We are here.”

“Gimme a minute.” I mumble into his shirt.

“Is she alright?” Thor asks.

I feel Loki nodding. “Remember that interdimensional space travel is not a common occurrence for mortals. Give her a moment to get used to it.”

“How ‘bout two moments?” my voice is muffled by Loki’s chest. His chuckle vibrates inside him into me.

“Aah, Loki.” A deep slow voice has me lifting my head finally, to see a very large, very intimidating warrior dressed all in gold, with a huge sword in his hand, walking towards us.

Loki, seeing that I’ve looked up, and have been distracted from my mini existential crisis, unwraps one arm from around me and reaches out to shake the one the dark golden warrior is extending to him. “Heimdall. It is good to see you.”

“And you, Loki. Though I hope you will desist and not freeze me into a statue again as you did at our last encounter.”

“Ah, my apologies, Heimdall. I shall do my best to control the urge.” Loki says with a grin.

“And this must be Annie.” The man speaks to me.

“Hi…” I squeak pressing closer into Loki’s side, molding myself to his shape. I think it may have something to do with the man’s armor, or his sword, or his ethereal golden eyes that seem to stare right through me, but it’s somehow so much easier to immediately see and believe that this man is not human even though he looks like one. Much easier than with Loki and Thor.

“Do not be afraid, little one. None shall harm you on Asgard. We are pleased to welcome you among us.”

“Thank you.” I whisper, still intimidated but also somehow appeased. Heimdall's deep voice has a very calming quality.

“Your carriage awaits.” Heimdall sweeps a hand behind him at a regal golden carriage drawn by two gleaming black horses.

Loki takes my hand tightly, leading me over to the carriage. I’ve never been in a horse drawn carriage before, let alone one made out of gold.

Loki helps me inside and then prods me into the seat because I’m just standing there staring. As lavish as this thing was on the outside it’s about a hundred times more so on the inside, if that’s even possible. Deep red satin drapes over the seats. Royal purple velvet pillows dot the soft cushions. The floor is carpeted in a thick off white shag. The walls of the carriage are burnished gold with intricate patterns swirling all around. Dark drapes hang over the windows.

My mouth has dropped open.

I vaguely register Loki talking to Thor, then he swings himself into the carriage, sinking into the cushion opposite me. His brother doesn’t join us and as soon as the door closes behind him the horses set into motion, the gentle clip-clopping of their hooves muted from inside.

I turn to Loki with wide eyes. His own are wary and guarded as they return my gaze. “What?”

“Nothing… it’s just never really sunk in this expressly that your freaking _royalty._ Should I have been curtsying to you all this time?”

He laughs. “Well, a bit of well placed groveling will certainly garner you favor.” He holds our his hand to me. “Come here.”

I move over to sit next to him, though for a second I almost have the urge to kneel before him instead. I look up at him, seeing him suddenly through new eyes. He is a prince! He is used to this type of lifestyle. Everything outside that window; the whole land, the whole planet, the whole realm, belongs to him in some measure.

“Don’t look at me like that, love.” He murmurs, his thumb stroking over my cheek. “I am still me.”

“But all of a sudden you’re like, royal you. It’s hard to grasp that, when you’re in canvas pants and shirt or in my dingy bedroom. Here, surrounded by all this…” I gesture around the carriage. “I’m in awe of you…”

“And I am in awe of you everyday. Do not overthink this, love. Everything I own, everything I am belongs to you. Most of all this.” He picks up my hand and lays it right over his heart.

I look down at it feeling the steady beat. “This is all I want.”

“You hold it in your hand.”

On a whim I lean forward and kiss the spot right over his heart. When I look up at him his eyes are so soft and liquid yet so hot and excited at the same time that my mouth literally dries up. I think he’s about three seconds away from pouncing on me and so I distract so we don’t wind up getting caught _in flagrante delicto_ in the back of the royal carriage. That probably won’t make me look good to the King and Queen.

“Can we open a window. I really want to see the rest of your kingdom, Princey.”

Loki sucks in a long breath, holds it for a few seconds, then lets it out. Then he reaches past me and pulls one of the heavy black curtains to the side. I inch closer to the window, which has no glass in it, and look outside.

My breath stutters in amazement. There in front of us looms a giant golden castle. The sun reflects off the countless thin turrets that make up the whole, casting the entire structure in golden light. Those thin, shiny spires getting taller and taller as they make up the castle’s tip remind me of an old church organ. In fact the sight of this castle fills me with the same deep, quivering awe as the sound of one of those huge instruments always did.

The path we’re riding on is streaked with rainbows of glowing light, and looks like it leads right up the castle doors. I look further up over the castle, and do a double take. There’s two moons in the sky.

For some reason this more than anything drives home to me the fact that I am no longer on Earth. Two moons? I turn back to Loki, suddenly feeling unbearably small.

He pulls me into his side where I curl up like a kitten. “Do you wish to go home?” he asks, voice soft and urgent.

I look up at him. I want to say no. I want to stay. And I do. It’s just that all of this feels suddenly so much… bigger than me.

“Love?”

I shake my head timidly.

Loki is not convinced. “You are overthinking again, aren’t you?”

I nod.

“Listen close, love. This is a planet, just like your own. It is inhabited, just like your own. You are here, you walk among us just as you do on Earth. Do not dwell on the differences. Dwell on your own curious mind and look at this as something new for you to explore.”

I blink up at him slowly.

“But if and when you do desire to go back, even if it is right now, all you have to do is tell me and we shall be off.”

“Really?” I whisper. “You’d just turn us around right now? Without even seeing your mom?”

“For your wellbeing and peace of mind, my love, I would do anything.” I believe him, though I can tell that the notion of not seeing his mom now when he’s so close hurts him.

His words are exactly the thing I need to kick start my brain into stowing the overthinking. So I’m on another planet. So what?! I’ve been on a planet before. And didn’t I used to always want to travel?! Well now I am, to better and more exotic places than I _ever_ could have imagined.

I sit up straighter again and nod in response to Loki’s questioning look. “I’m okay now.”

“Good. Because we are coming up on the castle.” He says looking over my shoulder out the window. “And unless I am very much mistaken that is my mother awaiting us on the front steps.”

I swing around to look at the figure of a tall woman in a dark blue dress. Her hair is fixed into a high up-do, and even from the distance I can see glimmering around her throat, wrists, upper arms, and ears that evidences lots of jewelry; each piece probably worth more than my parent’s entire house.

The carriage stops and Loki moves to get out. Even though I know; can see and feel how eager he is to get to his mother, even as he is apprehensive, I can’t help myself and tug back on his hand. To him it probably feels like a gnat pulling on him, but he’s so attuned to me that he stops and looks back at me. I let him see my own worry, suddenly wishing I’d dressed up more. I mean this woman I’m about to meet is a _Queen!_

Loki smiles encouragingly. “Do not be worried about my mother’s disapproval, love, I have told you before.”

“Right now I’m more worried that I’ll puke on her because I’m so nervous.”

He breathes a soft laugh. “If you do she will not think less of you for it and will fuss about you all the more believing you to be ill.”

That’s not necessarily the comfort I had wanted to hear. I take a deep breath. “Okay.”

Loki nods once, waiting for my confirming nod back, then exits the carriage keeping ahold of my hand.

As soon as we hit the ground I’m distracted by the castle which dominates my entire field of vision, rising over us even bigger than it had looked before and blocking out the whole sky.

Before I can get too awed though the woman approaches us and my eyes shift to her. She is beautiful, her face kind, her eyes sparkling with joy as she looks at Loki. When she reaches us her hands come up to hover very lightly right over Loki’s shoulders almost as if she wants to hug him but is afraid to because she fears that Loki might reject her touch. He’s looking down at her, his face impassive but I can see from the heavy bobbing of his throat that he is swallowing his emotions down afraid of being hurt again. I gently extricate my hand from his, wordlessly prodding him to let her in.

“Mother…” his voice is hoarse.

“Loki.” Hers trembles slightly.

They stare at each other in silence for a while.

“You look well, my son.”

“I am. Better than I have been in a long time.”

More silence. Then all of a sudden his arms are around her and hers around him. Her hand cradles the back of his dark head and I see his eyes look up for a second as if thanking the heavens themselves, before he buries his face against her shoulder.

“Oh, Loki, I have missed you so.”

He makes no reply but I see his arms tightening around her almost desperately.

I look away from the tender display, giving them privacy. Instead I turn to look out at the city in front of me. The realm of the gods. Yes, I’d brushed up on my Norse Mythology before coming here.

The city itself looks like a strange blend of futuristic and medieval architecture. There’s a lot of burnished gold, evidenced by the sun glinting off almost every rooftop. The entire city is haloed by a half circle of snowcapped mountains that reach high into that sky that looks so similar to the one on earth. Except for those two moons that hang palely right next to each other like a pair of best friends. The path of colors we’d come in on; the Rainbow Bridge, cuts through the center of the city extending all the way out over the water which slowly, subtly becomes darker and darker until it is no longer a lake, but empty space. The void, Loki had called it. With a jolt I realize that this is where he let go with the intention to die. And if that had yielded the intended result I would have never met him, would not be standing here now… I swallow hard.

“Annie?” Loki’s soft voice interrupts my whirling thoughts. When I turn around he’s standing with his arm around his mother’s shoulders. Her own is around his waist and she is leaning into his side, though her eyes are on me alight with curiosity. Loki extends his free hand out to me palm up.

Slowly I place mine into his and come closer. “Mother, this is my little love. Annie; Frigga.”

Frigga detached herself from Loki and comes to me. I blink at her vaguely intimidated, but she scoops my hand out of the one Loki is holding and grabs my other one too, grasping them both in a warm and gentle grip. “Annie.” She says her voice warm.

“Y-your majesty.” I stammer wondering if I should bow. I should have asked Loki about the proper etiquette not about whether she’d be offended by my shirt.

“Oh, none of that, please, child. My name is Frigga. No need for formalities. You are practically family.”

Family? I stare at her, wide eyed then take a quick glance at Loki. He is smiling benignly, eyes on us, filled with something I can’t identify because I can’t devote my full focus to him right now. They also look vaguely shiny.

“It is so good to meet you, Annie.”

“You too. I… I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, you mustn’t believe everything that Loki says.” She teases lightly reaching out and pinching Loki’s cheek. I previously never could have imagined anyone daring to pinch his cheek, but I guess if there’s anyone who could it would be this woman. “What is your impression of Asgard?”

“It’s wonderful. Incredible. Amazing! I… I’m a little overwhelmed.”

Frigga laughs lightly. “Yes, I imagine Asgard would have that effect on any who have not been here before. However Midgard too has its fair share of marvelous wonders.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never really been anywhere.”

“Well then it is double the honor for me to officially welcome you to Asgard on your very first trip.”

“Thank you.”

“Where is your brother, Loki?”

“He had dealings with Heimdall.” Loki answers, coming up behind me and folding me into his arms, bowing forward slightly and resting his chin atop the crown of my head seemingly unconsciously. Frigga’s eyes light up at the sight.

“Odin awaits you, come we must get you dressed accordingly.”

I feel Loki’s fingers clench in the fabric of my shirt at my hips. I lean into him. “It’ll be fine.” I whisper knowing that Frigga can most likely hear us but seeing that she averts her eyes politely.

“Your sunny optimism lights my life, love.” Loki says sardonically before he plants a kiss on my temple, apologizing for the disdain.

Frigga motions us to follow and we fall into step behind her, our fingers intertwining.

We walk through the castle at breakneck speed. I know we’re probably rushing so as not to make the king impatient but I wish we could slow down. There’s so much I want to see, so much art, paintings and statues dotting the drafty old stone hallways. I don’t know where to look first; there’s too much. Like the city itself, the castle is a perfect paradox. So futuristic from the outside but looking like a medieval setting right outta Game of Thrones from the inside. My eyes are restless as they try to take everything in but we’re walking too fast. Loki leans over to whisper to me. “I promise to give you a tour later, love.”

I smile at the fact that he’s recognized my curiosity but I can’t help thinking that if Odin isn’t amendable then there won’t be a later. God, I can’t even imagine that his dad won’t be… but to hear Loki talk… I think he fully expects to be exiled by his father. But I swear if Odin treats him unfairly he’ll hear from me; God of War against a puny human, or not!

Frigga separates us when we reach a large antechamber leading off into two separate rooms. Loki turns into the one on the left while Frigga ushers me into the one on the right. I had not banked on this. I hadn’t expected that I’d be all alone with Loki’s mom so soon after meeting her, and it makes me indescribably nervous. I look back at Loki over my shoulder to catch his encouraging wink. Then the door closes between us.

I turn around slightly panicked, to find Frigga watching me, a kind smile on her face, her head tilted slightly to one side. “Do not be nervous, child. I shan’t harm you.”

I swallow hard. “it’s not that, your… Frigga… sorry. I’m not scared that… that you’ll _hurt_ me, or whatever. I’m just afraid that you’ll be…” I break off looking at her open, friendly, slightly concerned face.

“Be what?” she prompts gently.

“Disappointed?”

Her beautiful face registers sincere surprise. She comes up to me, catching up my hands in hers. “Dear girl, why would I ever be disappointed in you?”

“Not _in_ me. More… _with_ me.”

“But why?”

“Because… because I’m… I’m human. Small. Weak. Nothing! Compared to Loki… How could I ever be worthy of him… or measure up beside him? I mean no mother wants that kind of a partner for her kid…?” My self deprecation colors my voice as a lump rises in my throat.

“Oh, dear, dear child. How could you believe that?” Frigga takes hold of my shoulders in a firm grip. “How could you not think yourself worthy of my son? How could you think that _I_ would find you unworthy? You have opened him up. That much I could see for myself in those few moments since you arrived. Loki has never been one for openly showing affection but with you it is second nature. He is happy; happier than I have seen him perhaps ever. And from what Thor tells me you are responsible for even bringing the truth out of him and inspiring him to heal.”

I swallow hard. “I try… but it’s really him that’s healing me.”

“I think it is entirely mutual, dear. I have never seen him the way he is with you. Not even when he was a child. It does my heart good to see him this way.”

“Really?”

“Indubitably. So you see, there is no instance where I could possibly be disapproving of you, or think you are not more than an adequate match for my son. In fact I might have to wonder if he is a match for you.” She smiles widely and I can’t help but smile back relieved.

“Now, how about we select for you the perfect dress to meet my husband in.”

She leads me over to a large closet filled with dresses of all colors. I’m slightly daunted by this bright display; I still haven’t worn anything brighter than heather gray in years and it doesn’t look like there’s anything darker than mauve. But still, I guess there’s no better time and place to start wearing bright colors again than here on a whole other world. I throw Frigga an unsure look. “I can pick any of these?”

“Whichever you desire.”

“Will they fit?”

“I will tailor your choice for you.” She says wiggling her fingers at me, the tips of which glow with soft yellow light.

“Whoa. That’s right. You taught Loki magic.”

She inclines her head in the same way Loki does when I say something that mildly surprises him. “That is correct. Did he tell you so?”

I start carefully looking through the dresses, being very cautious of the fabrics, not wanting to accidentally damage anything. “Yea. He also told me about looking at stars with you and all the stories you’d always tell him.”

“Norns, he remembers that. He was so little.”

I look at her around a dark green dress I’ve just pulled out of the bunch. Her eyes are slightly wet. “He said it was one of his fondest memories.”

She smiles shakily. “He stopped spending time with me in that way when he was very young. Our interactions thereafter were mostly political, lessons; magical or otherwise, and having to tell him off for various things…” she looks away sadly. “I regret not giving him more of my attention.”

“Sounds like he pushed you away.” I hang the dress back up carefully. Green isn’t really my color. “And you did give him attention in the only way he would let you. He’s so naturally guarded and suspicious. But I know he loves you and values any time you spent together a lot. Even if back when he was young he thought he was too cool to spend time with his mom or something…”

She looks back at me thoughtfully. “He said he values our time?”

I nod, fingering a yellow dress. No, too bright! I’m not there yet. “I think he’s grown up a lot. A lot of kids push their parents away ‘cause they think they’ll look less cool if they spend time with their moms. But eventually they realize how precious and important the time with a mom is. My brother did it. So did I.” I ignore the stab to my heart and guts that I get every time I mention Jacob.

“Thank you, Annie. You can not imagine how much of a comfort your words are to me.”

I pull a purple dress out of the closet stroking it thoughtfully avoiding her eyes because I suddenly feel awkward. “He was really afraid that you’d be disappointed in him. It was one of his biggest fears about returning."

“But he was innocent…”

“Still.”

Frigga draws in a heavy breath then lets it out slowly. “Is that the dress you would like to wear?” she asks.

I nod. “If that’s okay?”

“But of course. Let us try it on to see what alterations have to be made.”

I do as she says slipping out of my jeans and shirt, while she turns away giving me privacy. I slip the dress over my head, slightly confused by the different layers and loose fabrics that hang everywhere.

Frigga turns back around and smiles when she sees me. “It looks stunning on you.”

“Thank you. But… um..?” I hold up a large flap of fabric unsure where it’s supposed to go.

“Allow me.” Frigga deftly and artfully drapes the dress over my shoulders and around my waist, her nimble fingers arranging it skillfully. As she slings it over my arms they very lightly brush over the faded scars on the inside of my left forearm. I jerk slightly, lowering my head in shame. Frigga only smiles at me warmly and lays the dress so that it covers the scars. Then she reaches up and cups my cheek for a swift second before she begins the alterations, twiddling her fingers a bit, shortening the hemline, and making the dress just a tad wider at my hips, and tighter at my waist. I’ll have to be super careful to not step on the hem and trip. Wouldn’t that be just like me though, to fall flat on my face in front of the King of Asgard?!

After the dress is done to her satisfaction she gives me soft black slippers to put on, then sits me down on a stool in the center of the room after securing my permission to do my hair.

I close my eyes enjoying the gentle tugging of her brushing it and then beginning to do something to it that involves a lot of pinning and braiding.

“So are you?” I eventually can’t stop myself from asking.

“Am I what, dear?”

“Disappointed in Loki?”

“No. No, of course not. I am heartbroken at all he has suffered and the years we have lost because of it. I am grief-stricken that he believed us to be so angry with him that he was too afraid to return, choosing eternal imprisonment over facing us and telling us his truth.”

“He was afraid you wouldn’t believe him because he had no proof.”

“His word is proof enough for me.”

“What about for your husband?” It’s a bold question but I can’t help but ask it, since it is said husband who I’m being prepped to meet so he can pass judgement on the validity of Loki’s word.

Frigga sighs. “He will be harder to convince. But he promised to hear Loki out. I cannot read him though. I know he missed Loki, but I also know he has always found it difficult to express his feelings.”

I nod slowly. I guess we’ll have to wait and see. Nerves shake my insides.

Frigga finishes with my hair and leads me over to a mirror. “Wow.” I can’t help but stare, my jaw dropping. I look different. Taller somehow, regal. Royal. I look… otherworldly. For the first time I can picture myself standing beside Loki and measuring up; in looks at least, to that unearthly, alien beauty he radiates, even when wearing his canvas prison jumpsuit. But this girl staring back at me, who blinks when I blink, and who reaches up to gingerly touch the masterpiece that is her hair when I do, she looks like she belongs next to Loki. She looks like she belongs _here._

“Are you pleased?” Frigga asks from behind me.

“Yeah! Super pleased. Wow. I… thank you. Thank you so much."

“It is not my doing, child. You posses this beauty. I merely enhanced it.” She says lightly.

I smile at her, abashed by the compliment. She lightly places an arm around my shoulder and strangely I don’t shudder inside at the contact.

“Come, let us go and see how Loki has cleaned up. I believe I heard him exiting the other room a few moments ago.”

Oh, yes, I want to see what Loki looks like dressed in princely finery or whatever. I nod animatedly at Frigga, who laughs, then leads me to the door.

Loki stands waiting in the antechamber, leaning lazily on the ledge of the fireplace, studying a bouquet of roses that stands there. He looks for all the world, the definition of mellow-yellow relaxation, but I can see the tension across his shoulders and thinly veiled in his rigid, more-perfect-than-usual posture. He stands tall immediately when he sees us.

Holy crap. He looks amazing. His hair is open and straight. I have never seen it like this before, only slightly curly towards the ends as was his usual style, or slicked back with product like on my birthday. Now it is sleek and shiny and soft looking and I want to run my fingers through it. He’s wearing a dark green leather outfit that falls to his knees in the front. In the back it is split into four sections, each one hanging like it’s own mini cape down to his ankles. His pants are black, as are his boots which are made from an incredibly shiny yet soft looking leather. The shoulders of his top are slightly padded, and a gold half circlet necklace hangs around his neck. My hand comes up to touch the one Frigga put on me. It seems to match pretty exactly. Did she know he was going to be wearing that?

My eyes can’t look enough, and only belatedly do I remember stupidly to feel shy, wondering what he thinks of me. All of a sudden my mental image of me finally fitting in beside Loki rearranges itself in the face of this new look of his, leaving me presenting just as frumpy and dowdy as I usually think I appear beside him.

My fingers twist in the fabric of the dress and I look down biting my lip. Man, it still sucks being stuck inside my head, even on another planet…!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was Frigga? Was she in character? I hope I did okay with her because I love her so much! Odin is next up. My feelings for him are basically exactly opposite as those for his wife... Suspense on what will happen there. Mahahahaha!  
> I hope you liked the chapter and I hope I did the magnificence of asgard justice although I dont think anyone can. Man, I wish I could go there.  
> K, thanks ever so much for travelling all the way through space with Annie and Loki to read about the beginnings of their adventures on Asgard!


	43. Kingly Konfrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS for family confrontations, talks of suicide, and emotional abuse, sort of. So I totally did the obnoxious Kardashian thing in the title of starting a C word with a K. But ALLITERATION BITCHES!!!! I love it. Lol. So this is the long awaited "K"onfrontation with Odin. I hope I do it justice. And maybe this chapter is also a surprise...

Holy Valhalla!

I cannot help but stare unbecomingly. I have pictured her in traditional Asgardian dress many a time before but nothing; no amount of wishful imaginings could have prepared me for the sight. My mouth dries up rapidly as my eyes cannot drink her in enough.

She stands, fidgeting slightly, in the doorway, her fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of the dress my mother has placed her in. She is staring at me in much the same fascination, though she masks it better, perhaps by the shyness she feels under my eyes.

Her shapely form is encased in a dress of a deep royal purple hue, wrapping around her waist and over her shoulders in artfully arranged drapes. Where the dress hugs her shoulders and floats over her arms, almost reminiscent of a cape, it is a pale lilac colored material that looks as if she is wearing the smoke from a softly smoldering fire. Around her neck is a heavy circlet of hewn gold like the one I wear, though more intricately and femininely patterned, and I know that my mother has placed it there on purpose to complement mine. She has also looped up Annie’s hair into a long golden braid which she has wound around her forehead as if she were wearing a crown of her own locks. The end of the plait hands over her right shoulder which is left bare by the cut of the dress. To hide the place at the back of her head where the loop of hair is secured, my mother has arranged sprigs of lavender and blooms of violets in Annie’s hair, their varying hues of purple brilliantly offset by the many shades of shimmering gold in her tresses.

She looks absolutely stunning, every bit the Asgardian goddess, all while her sweetly blushing cheeks remind me of her wondrous mortality.

My mother smacks me lightly upside the head. “Do not just stand there, son. Have you forgotten all your manners?” she scolds without weight, giving me a slight shove in the shoulder.

I collect my scattered wits and smile down at her before I walk slowly towards the love of my existence who radiates nervous energy as well as pure light and beauty.

I catch up her hands smiling down at her.

“Hi,” she whispers softly looking up at me with large liquid eyes. I see my own face reflected in them, an image which brings home to me the fact that she truly sees me as I am, and that she reflects what she sees back unto me, making me believe for the first time in perhaps forever that I am not quite as bad as I have forever been led to believe. Those diamond bright eyes of hers can see right through me, at the same time as they see all of me and down into my very soul. And for some inexplicable, miraculous reason she likes what she sees.

I have been silent for too long staring at her with what I know is an unfathomable expression on my face.

“Disappointed?” she asks, insecurity wavering in her sweet voice.

“Yes...” I reply huskily.

I wait the barest minimum of a second until I see her flinch lightly then finish my sentence. “…that I have not dragged you here long before now, so I could have seen you in this type of dress many more times previously.”

A slow smile stretches her face. Her little hand smacks flat onto my leather covered sternum in her pantomimed annoyance at my trickery.

“I hate you.” But her eyes laugh up at me.

“You love me.”

“You sure about that?”

“As sure as I am of the fact that you are the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld.”

Her smile pours into every crevice of me, warming me from the inside out, and giving me the courage to face whatever should come next.

“You don’t look too shabby yourself. But where’s your… you know?” She mimes great curved horns coming out of her head.

“My helmet? That is only for battle, love.”

“Oh. Aren’t we about to do battle though?”

I sober. “You are right. Perhaps I should send for it…”

My mother approaches. “It’s time.”

I turn to her, for a single instant allowing her to see the apprehension, yes downright fear, in my eyes.

She reaches up and places her palm against my cheek. “Whatever happens, Loki, you will always be my son. And I promise you on all the bonds of magic that bind us, I will never abandon you again no matter what it might cost.”

My eyes slide closed at my mother’s familiar touch and the long missed cadence of her voice. I want to tell her, say the words to her, how much I love her, how much I missed her, how much the secret she had a part in keeping from me hurt me, how I understood why she played her part, but also how I did not understand and never could, how much her presence here means to me and her words, how much I love her for how fully she has accepted Annie in such a short span of time. But something ties my throat shut. I do not know if it is the overwhelming influx of emotions, the hurt I still feel at her betrayal, my love for her, or my inborn stubbornness. My mouth opens but I cannot get the words out to form any of those thoughts of mine into sentences.

Her eyes grow sad and deep. “I know, Loki.” She whispers, patting my cheek. “I know…”

She pulls me down towards her and kisses my forehead holding the contact for long seconds. I band an arm lightly about her middle while my other hand stays connected to Annie’s holding on to her even as she tries to step back to give the two of us space. But she need not do so. She is a part of this trifecta now and I need her by my side, want her there as I have never wanted anything before. Because with her beside me I can face anything. Even my father.

“Are you ready, son?” My mother asks and for the first time in a while I feel pride at her calling me her son, instead of anger, annoyance, disdain, or grief.

I look down at Annie. “Are you ready, love?”

“I am if you are. Just hold onto me, okay. I’m afraid I might trip over this dress!”

I look deep into her eyes as I make her the superficial promise that in my mind goes so much deeper. “I will never let you fall.”

  
It has been years since I walked down this path. The long, long way paved in gold and marble, watched over by the giant statue of kings and gods long past, from the portal to the raised dais on which sits the king’s throne. As I child I once counted the steps. Then I counted them most every time I walked this path, alone. And I walked it alone many a time, most often to receive a talking to and punishment from my father for various little misdeeds. When I was young it took my short, stubby little legs 537 steps to reach the respectable distance that everyone; even a son, was to maintain from the throne. As I grew and approached adolescence I managed to traverse the distance in 513 steps. Then, the last time I counted as I walked this path at my brothers interrupted coronation, with my mother on my arm, it had taken me 498 steps. I remember being strangely pleased at that number as for the first time I had broken 500 steps.

Now I walk it with Annie beside me. Her little hand clutches mine almost as tightly as mine holds on to hers. I can tell she is nervous, but I fear her nervousness may be more on my account than on hers. The regal figure of Odin sitting tall in his throne, leaned back and slightly to the side as he always is, while he holds in his fist Gungnir, that spear I once procured for him… it evokes a thousand and more memories of my childhood. Being brought before him as I am now, judged for my wrongdoings, even when I had done nothing wrong. I know I am not blameless in this instance, but it seems as it always did, as if only days had passed since I had to face him the day I turned mother’s favorite necklace into a harmless garden snake, or the time I stabbed Thor through the shoulder with a knife, after he bashed me in the face with a hammer pretending it to be Mjolnir. I had been bleeding from my temple just as profusely as Thor from his shoulder, if not more so, and yet I had gotten in trouble, because I had used the more dangerous weapon even though his hammer had done more damage to me than my knife did to him. And unlike him I wasn’t foolish and careless enough to stab him in a truly harmful place. His shoulder, for Bor’s sake. Half of my face had been a bloody mess.

In retrospect I now understand that they meant to keep my impulsive nature contained and to quash any instances of maliciousness or violence even if they surfaced in mischievousness or self defense. They did so because they were afraid that the impulsivity would turn into the vicious cruelty for which the Jötuns are so well known and feared for. They knew I was born a monster and wished only to try and keep me from becoming one in future too.

They failed!

We arrive in front of the throne and I wish desperately that I could start the trip over from the beginning, walk that entire length back, then forth, and then again, before I am forced to listen to the judgement I can already read in that single sky blue eye.

And still, showing proper respect as a disgraced son must for the father who does not lay claim to him, I sink to one knee pressing my right fist over the left side of my chest. My other hand stays entwined with Annie’s pulling her gently down with me. She copies me, though rather clumsily, almost slipping and falling on the smooth stone floor. As promised my hand catches and supports her. Her familiar beloved antics cause the smallest of smiles to cross my lips as a tiny bubble of warmth and comfort bursts in the otherwise barren landscape of my dread.

“Rise.” Odin rumbles. I do, steadying Annie as I go. From the corner of my eyes I can see her looking up at the figure on the throne with a strange mix of curiosity and hostility.

Odin ignores her as completely as if I were as alone as I used to be in this self same situation. “Loki.”

Every mischief laced instinct in my body begs me to mock him, to click my heels together in a quasi show of respect while letting him know through the flamboyantly over-the-top action exactly what I think of him greeting me like this. As a king, instead of as a father.

But I hold back not wanting Annie exposed to the full plethora of his wrath, especially when it pertains to me, on her very fist day. She is already so very nervous. “Your majesty.” I say softly. Really it would have garnered me more goodwill if I had addressed him as father, but since he sees the need to impose us in full armor and regalia, I refuse.

He frowns in distaste. “Must you always make such a fuss, Loki?”

I can feel my insides begin to curdle already. It has not even been a minute and already I feel the urge to stab him through his one good eye. He must be out to set a new record. “I do not see a fuss. I am not the one sitting high atop his golden throne, looking down to judge imperiously those of us he said he would pardon.”

“Pardon…” Odin begins dramatically. “Are you aware of the full breadth and weight of your crimes?”

I feel Annie stiffen beside me and know she has taken offence to the fact that Odin is ignoring that which my brother has told him; my unwilling participation in said crimes. I squeeze her hand in reassurance.

“I am aware, oh King, seeing as it was I who was trapped in that puppet’s body, fighting desperately to disobey that which, by your own definition, cannot be disobeyed: the Mind Stone.”

“I am not speaking of your botched conquest of Midgard. I am speaking of all that came before. How you attempted to bring about the downfall of Asgard.”

“Downfall? Asgard’s downfall would have been placing Thor on the throne when he was not yet ready for the responsibility of ruling a whole realm and keeping the peace in nine of them, as you meant to do. I showed you that at the slightest provocation he would react like a bear prodded in its hibernating sleep. He would have tipped Asgard into war at the first sign of trouble. Your great nation would have fallen faster than you could say “ _Er maðr mœta óvinr inn bardagi, betri er þrek-mikill hjarta þan hvass sverð._ ”" I am rather proud of my quoting of _Volsunga_ stating that " _when men meet foes in fight, better is stout heart than sharp sword_.". Since clearly to Thor back then, his arrogance, strength, and hammer had been all he thought he needed to rule, instead of his attitude, wits, and intelligence as well.

“And I suppose you believed yourself to be a worthy replacement to Thor?” Odin however remains unimpressed, his voice is heavy with sarcasm.

Annie’s fingernails dig into my palm with the force she is using to restrain herself. I understand what she is doing; she is giving me a chance to hash out these issues with Odin instead of jumping to my defence as I am sure she wants to. And she is, through her tight grip, lending all her strength to mine to allow me to do so.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I merely wanted you to realize that Thor had a lot left to learn before he could be ready for the responsibility. I trusted your judgement in this as you had never trusted mine.”

Odin leans forward, balancing on Gungnir. “Do not attempt to fool me with your silver tongue, boy. You wanted your brother out of the way so you could claim this throne.”

“If I recall correctly you gave me that throne when you fell into the ever convenient Odinsleep after revealing to me the true reason why you would not consider giving it to me… But no matter… you always make out as if I detested and despised my brother and wished naught but ill on his head. I loved Thor as I still do now. I despised his arrogance. The way he lorded his strength and the fact that he was your favorite over me. I had been just as excited as him for the coronation. I knew he could be a good king if only he managed to let go of the notion that the Nine Realms revolved solely around him. But you could not see it. And so I showed you. But you are more blinded in your single remaining eye than Heimdall would be were he without his all-seeing gaze.”

“Enough!” Gungnir bangs on the stone floor. Annie jumps slightly beside me.

Odin leans lazily back in his throne, though I see the stiffness of his shoulders betraying his tension and his anger. “I acknowledge that what happened on Midgard and the years before was not through your free hand. I understand as few others do the Mind Stone’s true power, and accept that you were under its influence.”

My eyes must widen in surprise. I have never heard my father speak the words “I acknowledge”, "I understand", or “I accept” when pertaining to me.

“However you brought your torturous exile on yourself. Had you not acted so crudely, so rashly before, it would never have happened. You have only yourself to blame.”

My vision blurs slightly; I believe it might be in shock at the fact that this is the tack he is taking. Believing me technically, but finding a way to blame me absolutely still. Beside me I see Annie staring at the man on the throne with huge eyes. I feel that selfsame disbelief at the direction Odin’s reprimand has taken, pouring off her in waves.

He waves an airy hand encompassing all; the hall, me, Annie, Asgard, perhaps all of the realms, in the one careless gesture. “All this because Loki desired a throne.” His voice is condescending and contemptuous.

Anger flares. Clearly he does not believe my words from earlier about desiring the throne only if it was right for me to have it. What I desired was the continued and greater prospering of Asgard. But he would rather believe I am the selfish monster he has painted me as inside his head since I was but a mere babe. “It was my birthright!” I say in a strong, sure voice; the kind I expect he wants to hear from a spoiled, selfish brat such as he sees me as.

Gungnir bangs the floor again. Annie jumps. “Your birthright… was to die!” Odin thunders, leaning towards me again in his anger. “…as a child, cast out onto a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in, you would not be here right now to hate me.”

“Perhaps. But then where would you have been without your best bargaining chip, Odin?”

He changes tack as swiftly as a leaping kjorer stag. “Frigga is the only reason you are still alive. If she had not begged me on bended knee for me to spare you, I would have had you brought back here to be executed for your crimes. Instead I left you to rot in chains on Midgard, amongst the humans you so despise…”

I stumble back a half step as the full impact of his words hits me. He would have had me killed. He was ready to execute me, wanted me brought back here for that express purpose. My insides vibrate with anger, perhaps at the fact that he truly meant to kill me, or at the fact that he made my mother beg. He does it sometimes when he feels she is becoming to headstrong and independent in her views. He makes her crawl before him and pleads for what it is she wants. It makes him feel powerful. My mother is such a strong woman with a will of iron, but us her children are her weakness and for us she would do anything. And Odin takes advantage of that to bend her to his will. I had always hated seeing it; it infuriated me even as a child…

But Odin is not done berating me. “Wherever you go Loki there is war, ruin, and death. Misery follows in your footsteps for all who meet you-"

“Jesus _Christ!”_ the shout comes from my left. My heart flutters in my chest as I see Annie there standing tall, no longer withdrawn and curled in on herself like a fiddlehead fern, but tall and proud and straight backed as the most majestic Yggdrasil tree. Her eyes are blazing at Odin who looks quite taken aback. Her face is twisted into mask of purest disgust as she glares at him, and I have just enough time to pray that she never look at me in this way, before she continues.

“Are you fucking serious? Misery follows in your footsteps? Wherever you go there is war, ruin and death? Do you even hear yourself?”

“Loki, what is this child-"

“Nnno!” She draws the single word out long, swiping an exasperated hand through the air before her. “No, you will not talk across me your gracious, majestic, kingly highness; whatever. I’m so over that. I am right here and if you’ve got an issue with that then you’ll damn well take it up with _me!”_

Odin sits up straighter in his throne, the knuckles of the meaty though withering fist that grips Gungnir turning white. I ready myself to do whatever I must to defend this utterly foolish, insane, miraculous, brave, little human. I know Odin will not hurt her; as a guest in his kingdom our customs forbid it, but I will not let him treat her the way he treats me. I will not let him shout at her, belittle her, ridicule her too. I would rather be run through with Gungnir!

“How dare you speak to me in this way, mortal girl? Do you not know you stand in the presence of a god?”

“You are not gods; you’re born, you live, you die. Just as us humans do. The fact that it takes you about 5000 years longer doesn’t mean anything. Human lives are incredibly long compared to the lives of a butterfly. But humans aren’t the butterflies' gods. And you’re not ours. _You_ are _not_ my god.”

I had no idea her scientific mind had been dwelling on this. I imagine Odin to be having quite the existential crisis up there on his throne. I am also momentarily distracted by her comparison of humans to butterflies. Truly it is a creature that is like her fully and completely. She is so frail and fragile, yet at the same time so enduringly strong and indelible; iredescant in her beauty as she flutters through my life like a dream; a single flap of her wings able to change the course of history and time itself. Yes, she truly is a butterfly. My butterfly.

I am brought back to the present when I see Odin opening his mouth. Annie though, undeterred, keeps right on going, plowing determinedly right over his protest. Her little fists are clenched at her sides, her eyes are blazing, their clear grey depths dark as thunderheads. “So don’t you come at me with that condescending, holier-than-thou attitude. You’re not my god and you’re not my king. I don’t subscribe to your religion of whatever the hell it is you’re selling here. And yeah, I am a guest here and technically that should warrant some respect towards you, but you haven’t given me a single reason to respect you! Quite the opposite in fact.”

She takes a step forward. My fingers tighten around hers, not to hold her back for one does not hold back a mighty storm in its force, or a woman in her temper; I learned that young; but rather to prevent her from letting go of me. Because her righteous anger is pouring into me, igniting my own body and making me feel for once, despite all my swagger and perceived self assurance, like I am not still a mere child standing before my angry father.

Annie stabs an infuriatedly enlightened finger at Odin. “How _dare_ you say that what Loki went through was his fault? He was tortured. For years. Every day. And he didn’t give in because he wanted to protect _you!_ How dare you say that was his fault? He made some bad choices but the fact that Thanos chose to take him and basically rip him apart from the inside out for years, was not his fault. He did not ask for it to happen. How dare you blame an absolutely random chain of events on him? He wanted to die. Did you know that? He didn’t slip when he fell. He let go. He wanted to die. He tried to kill himself. How… _d_ _are…_ you blame that on him?!”

Odin’s back is as rigid as if he has replaced his spine with his spear. Instinctive fear for Annie flutters in my heart. I have seen that expression on his face only before he brings down the hammer, sometimes literally. I fear for what might happen to my little mortal love if she is faced with that much kingly anger and power. I step up behind her. Her whole tiny body is practically vibrating with rage.

“I mean why the fuck would you invite him back here anyway if all you’re gonna do is jerk him around? You said you would listen to him, believe him. Instead all you do is insult him, blame him, and basically tell him that you wish he were dead. What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of a father are you?”

Odin’s eye fixes on my face, cold and distant. “I am not his father as he so loves to point out.”

 _“So?!_ You think that excuses you? You took him in; you adopted him. You made that choice to be his father. He never got a choice. Some might say you took that from him.”

“He was always ungrateful.” Odin’s voice is icy cold; that special tone that has always managed to grate over my heart.

“Children aren’t supposed to be grateful, you selfish dick. They’re supposed to eat your food and make you miserable. _You_ signed up to have this child.” She jabs her finger into my chest, perhaps a bit harder than she intended in her anger. “He didn’t sign up to have you. And as a parent; biological or not, it is your goddamn fucking job to look after your kids, not treat them as a burden.”

Odin’s face is dark, his brows drawn together over his single beady eye and the golden patch that covers the mangled remains of the other. I am sure he is entirely dumbstruck and staggered. No one had ever dared speak to him like this, especially not a human. I feel fierce pride and love for this feisty little firecracker swelling my heart, at the same time as the fear for her pulses in my blood. I tug on her hand.

She ignores me as I should have known she would, angry tears beginning to course down her face.

“Loki the kindest beings I know. He is gentle and calm and caring. He has his faults but so do I, so does everyone. Including you! He’s made mistakes but he’s atoned for them a hundred times over in guilt, self bereavement, and self hatred. He is stronger than anyone I have ever met, and he came here to see you. But I think it’s pretty clear that you don’t want to see him. So what the fuck, right? Why the hell are we even here?! You say Loki is ungrateful to you, but you’re just as ungrateful to him, if not more. And since you so very clearly don’t want either of us here we’ll just do you a favor and leave. I hope that one day you realize how much you’ve lost by pushing him away!”

And in a point of fact she does what no one in all the realms has ever dared to do in this room: she turns her back on Odin and begins to walk away without being dismissed by his kingly authority. And she tugs me along behind her. Feeling that pull that she has over me as I always do, I fall into step beside her the two of us starting to make our way the 500 or so steps backwards, side-by-side and hand-in-hand.

We have traversed about 20 steps when Odin’s voice rises from behind us. “Wait.”

A lifetime of being trained to obey that voice stops me in my tracks. My solidly planted feet do not waver as Annie’s stubborn momentum keeps her going forward. She is stayed though, by my motionless, tight-strung body, stumbling back into me when the full extent of our outstretched arms runs out, pulling her back. I catch her as I swore I always would.

That unconscious obedience may have stopped me in my tracks, but I do not turn around to face Odin. To my utter and complete surprise I hear him rising from his throne and descending the steps. Annie has turned around to face him beside me, the hand that clutches mine crossed awkwardly in front of her little body as she stares him down as he advances.

I shiver runs through me as I imagine what Odin could have done to her, through virtue of his commanding word alone. I tug her a step closer to my side, but do not turn around. I cannot bear to; cannot face him. He has confirmed in the last half hour what I always suspected of his feeling about me. I thought I had long since resigned myself to being my father’s second favorite son, but to know that he cared so little as to have wanted me executed without a fair trial…

Something lands heavily on my shoulder. I look down expecting it to be Gungnir's tip ready to act it’s part in whatever verdict Odin speaks, but it is his hand. “Do not leave.” He says gravely.

“Give us one good reason to stay.” Annie says quietly, though fiercely.

I find myself sincerely hoping that he is not foolish enough to give a reason such as “Because I command it". If he were to say these words, I believe my very protective avenging angel might just scratch his second eye out with her bare hands…

“You are my son, Loki…”

My shoulders tense.

“And it has been years…”

Since what? I want to ask him. What do those years mean to you? But I do not say anything, standing, with my head bowed, under the weight of his hand.

“Please look at me, my son.”

A shiver passes through me at these words. My son… It is not revulsion, or cold, or fear. I do not know what warranted this reaction. Perhaps it was shock. I shake my head slightly, no.

Annie appears in front of me. She cups my face in her soft little hands, her slim fingers smoothing over my cheeks and brow. “Hey?” she calls my attention to her. Her eyes are concerned when my own meet them.

“Do you wanna go?”

She does not ask if I am alright. She understands that under the circumstances I am not. My father has always been able to get the deepest emotions to surface though I have never before allowed him to see them that he has evoked. But this is what Annie does to me. She makes me vulnerable and in that vulnerability strong; stronger than I ever could have imagined being since I already thought myself possessing of all the strength I could have.

I shake my head slowly. I am mortified a second later when a single tear spills from my left eye, running a burning path down my cheek to pool against her palm where it cradles my face. She wipes it away with her thumb, not berating me for crying, for showing weakness, as I instinctively expect her to, because it is what my father would have done.

“You got this.” She says her hands squeezing my face slightly, squashing my cheeks inwards just a bit. “And I’m right here.”

Yes, yes she is. Right here beside me, and before in front of me defending me savagely against one of the most powerful beings in the universe. She; this tiny little mortal girl who thinks herself as weak. She has no idea the strength she encompasses.

I used to believe that strength came from the physical. From muscles and the ability to heft boulders, to slay monsters thrice your own size. Like my brother. Conversely I also believed in strength of the metaphysical. Magical abilities honed through self discipline, the ability to exercise complete telepathic control over anyone you desired. Like myself. But until I met Annie, the very embodiment of a strength that had nothing to do with magic or might, I did not know that there could be another sort. One that comes from within, fueled by the heart, in unbending loyalty and love, a type of strength that lets you look into the face of the entire world, which has done nothing but kick you down, and tell it that it has not the power to break you. Her strength makes my brothers muscles, my saiđr, even my fathers blustering rule seem inconsequential.

I borrow this strength from her now, allowing it to flow into me from where she practically radiates it. In my mind’s eye I see her glowing with a soft aura of light, the manifestation of this strength of hers and her love for me.

I turn to face Odin. “Years.” I repeat. “and the first action you take is to bring me before you and berate me.” My tone no longer carries anger or affliction of provocation. I am no longer attempting to rile him. I only feel calm acceptance as I state these that are my feelings to him in a flat voice that takes the personal aspects out of them, and leaves them merely facts.

“Yes…” Odin looks down for a second, then back up. “Please tell your human to desist glaring at me.”

I glance down at Annie who is indeed glaring daggers at Odin from beside my left shoulder. “Tell her yourself, though I fear she will not stop either way until she feels you are treating me as fairly as she believes I deserve to be treated.”

Odin looks at Annie. His stoic face softens. “You remind me of my wife, young one.” He says and I feel my eyebrows rising. “A fierce temper, and an unbreakable will of protection. You have met her, have you not?”

“I have.” Her voice is cool; distantly polite.

“What was your impression?”

“I liked her.” She hesitates glancing up at me appearing to decide something. Then she steps in front of me again slightly, though this time not in protection but rather to shift Odin’s focus onto her. “I want to like you too, your majesty, but you’re making it really hard. Believe it or not I didn’t actually come here to yell at you.”

“No?” Odin smiles; he actually smiles! “It seemed as if that had been simmering inside you for a while.”

“Ok, yea maybe. But I’d only heard Loki’s story so far. I wanted to give you a chance too, to disprove him.”

“And I botched this chance that you gave me…”

“Kinda.”

Odin sighs as he turns back to look at me. “There is much left to discuss between us, Loki. About wrongdoings on both our parts…”

I think I feel my heart stop in my chest. This is the closest that Odin has ever come to admitting any sort of feelings or fault on his part when pertaining to me. "What will happen to me while we are here?" My voice quivers though only minutely.

"You will live as you once did under my roof. You are not a prisoner, Loki."

"Aren't I?" It is not meant to sound snide and cynical; I am simply unconvinced.

"No." Odin lifts his hand from my shoulder.

"And what of Annie? Do you accept her?"

Odin turns to her giving her a long, steady look which she returns calm and unflinching. "I do."

Relief lifts off my shoulders as if both Odin's ravens, Hugin and Munin had been perched heavily there, their sharp claws dug deep into my flesh.

"I hope you will both join us for dinner tonight." Odin says which more than anything else he could say or do cements to me the fact that he is truly open to accepting Annie. It also means that he is dismissing us. I am unsure whether this is because he is tired of our presence or can sense that much further interaction at the moment might fray our nerves beyond repair.

I need no further prompting, inclining my head quickly, bending my neck deeply before him. Then I grab Annie's hand not even allowing her time to copy my gesture and tow her along behind me needing to escape my father's stifling presence post haste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was a Loki POV chapter out of nowhere. It just felt more right to have Loki's thoughts and feelings be the ones in the forefront here. I hope the confrontation with Odin was what people expected, amd that no one thinks it resolved too fast or too easily. They're far from alright those two, theres other conflicts coming... I used a fair amount of the dialogue from the Odin confrontation scene in The Dark World because it still fit so I definetly dont take credit for all of this chapter. I borrowed and then improvised.  
> Anyhoo I hope you liked it.


	44. Tree of the Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS for some mentions of suicide and self harm and rape and aftermath of family drama.  
> This is the promised fluff on Asgard.  
> Also, holy hell, I've been reading through the last two chapters I posted and I may have died inside at all the spelling and grammar mistakes I missed. I've been at the Supernatural Convention all weekend so I haven't had time to edit and I wrote those chapters barely a week ago so I havent had time to obsessively comb through them for mistakes. But I wanted to get them posted for you guys so I did literally at the convention, without wifi from my data (you're welcome!!!) and running around in the awesome hectic environment that is that of a con. Worth it! But yea, sorry for all the mistakes. I look so unprofessional *hides in shame. But anyway because my weekend was utterly awesome I'm giving y'all a picture that no one asked for of one of my photos ops. It's so cute and it makes me so happy and I need to show it off! So yes. That's posted randomly at the end. Sidenote: I am small but never have I felt so very tiny!!!! Also please note Loki's scepter hanging around my neck!  
> Anyway I'm done yakking. Enjoy the chapter!

  
Loki tows me along behind him at breakneck speed. I have to hike my dress up past my knees with my free hand so I don’t trip and face plant along that long, long, _long_ gold paved path to the throne. Once we’re back in the main part of the castle he finally slows. By this point I’m panting heavily and clutching at a stitch in my side.

He stops completely and leans against the wall, his head dropped back, eyes closed. I step up beside him, curling myself along the contours of his body without actually touching him anywhere because I know how physical contact can feel in a situation like this when you’re so emotionally raw; like live wires on your skin. So I don’t touch, but I’m still close, close enough that he can feel me and probably feel the heat radiating off my sweating body too.

“Was that the complete train wreck I thought it was?” I ask quietly.

He opens one eye to look down at me, then sighs and opens both, gaze going back to the rough stone ceiling. “Not completely. At least not in the latter part. He was surprisingly civil.”

 _“That_ was civil?”

“Quite.”

I pull a face. Every time I think about the stuff Odin said I feel anger start to bloom in my belly again. Especially that part about how he said that what happened to Loki was Loki’s fault because Loki had decided to jump into the void to basically inconvenience everyone. I’d literally wanted to kick him in the balls for that! How could anyone say that?! How could a parent blame their child for trying to kill themselves instead of, you know… _freaking out that their child tried to kill themselves?!_

Ugh! And then that whole _misery follows you everywhere_ business. I mean Jesus fuck, what’s wrong with the guy? This is the son he hasn’t seen in seven years and who almost died multiple times over in those seven years and _that’s_ what he has to tell him?

Loki’s thumb sweeps over my cheek. “You are getting yourself worked up all over again, darling. Stop. I am alright.”

I shake my head. “You’re not. Or at least you shouldn’t be. A lot of that was really horrible.”

He shakes his head, smiling slightly down at me, taking my hand in his. I can see that the smile is superficial, not reaching his eyes. “I am fine.”

“Bullshit.” I pull my hand away. “Don’t lie to me, Loki. Remember how we said we weren’t gonna bottle up our feelings anymore?! If you don’t wanna talk about it, or you’re not ready yet then that’s completely fine. I get it. But don’t lie to my face.” I reach up cupping his cheek, pushing onto my tiptoes to get into his face. “I’m not that fragile that I can't take your emotions.”

He catches my hand against his cheek, holding it there with his own. “Fragile? I could never think you fragile, love. Did you not just stand before the most powerful being in this realm and call him a… what was it? Selfish dick?”

That word out of Loki's mouth makes my lips twitch into a tiny smile. “Just tell me we’ll get there…” I say, serious again, looking deep into his eyes.

They close for a second and when they open it’s like a veil has lifted off them, letting me see the turmoil of his feelings raging behind that ocean of green. “We’ll get there.” He promises in a low voice.

“Okay.” I whisper then pull him down to my level, stretching up and kissing his forehead like he always does with me, and which makes me want to absolutely combust with love every time. His arms band around my middle holding me to him, almost crushing my ribs. But I don’t care. I let him hold me as I hold him back, feeling all the emotions that he won’t tell me about pouring off him. I try to absorb them for him and give him back my own comfort, and love, and support in return.

When he finally pulls away some of the shadows have lifted off him. “Shall I show you our rooms?”

“How about a tour first? We’ll have plenty of time for the rooms tonight. Right?”

“But of course. And we have much time before we are expected back to dinner with my parents.” A small flicker of a shadow crosses his face again at that, but then he shakes it off and takes my hand. We set off through the castle, this time walking slowly so I can look around at everything.

He shows me all of his favorite places in the castle including the top of the tower where his mom looked at the stars with him and told him stories. It’s the very top of the highest spire of the tiered castle. There’s no guardrail and it makes me slightly dizzy being up so high. I hold on tightly to Loki as the wind buffets us from all sides, pulling tendrils of my hair out of the elaborate coif Frigga has fixed me with and sending them flying around my face. I can see in every direction from here. To the north is the city and the lake, the void of space stretching endlessly out below us like a blanket dotted with stars and multicolored nebulae. It must be pretty incredible at night having the stars above as well as below. To the south, directly behind the castle, is a towering mountain range that goes on and on and on apparently endlessly. To the east and west the city sprawls outwards the houses becoming smaller, and less richly ostentatious the further they lie to the outskirts. At the very borders it looks like it’s mostly farms and fields that meld flawlessly into forests, small, bright green trees at the fringes that flow seamlessly into thick, dark green conifers.

“It's so beautiful.” I whisper, my voice choked up with wonder and awe.

“It is.” Loki agrees, but when I look up at him his eyes are on me.

He takes me to the stables next, stating that there is somebody he would like to see again. The stables are a series of low slung houses in the castle’s courtyard. There’s probably a hundred boxes in each, all containing the most magnificent horses I’ve ever seen. Now I was never much of a horsy girl but I’m pretty sure that most of the people who’s passion is riding would faint in excitement at the sight of these specimens. They must be some alien variety… Each horse is gleaming and stands tall and proud. Their manes glisten and their eyes sparkle. Each one seems to radiate the perfect mix of gentle calm and excited energy that makes you want to ride wildly through the streets sure that your steed won’t ever throw you.

Loki leads me to a box halfway down the long row from we can hear an excited nickering even twenty paces away. Loki breaks away from me to stride right up to the box. Inside it stands a gleaming black horse with warm, chocolaty eyes. It’s prancing excitedly from one hoof to the other, neighing with joy when it sees him approaching. Loki hold out his hand but the horse bypasses it pushing its large head insistently against his chest, huffing and snorting so exuberantly that it ruffles Loki’s hair.

“Yes. Yes, hello my beauty. I have missed you. Look at you my duchess of the night; still as magnificent as ever. Fie, you seem to have grown five hands. Were you always so grand? Yes, yes, you shall have my affection.”

I smile, my heart completely melting as I see Loki interact with the horse. It’s so utterly adorable that I can’t quite decide who is cuter; him or the horse.

“Annie, love, come meet Gríma.”

I step up next to him carefully, slightly intimidated by the horse’s size. Loki takes my hand and places it flat atop his own, palm up, holding it out towards the horse. It pushes its velvety snout against my palm, its warm oat-y breath washing over me. Then it nudges my hand insistently.

Loki laughs. “She likes you.” He digs in his pockets pulling out a handful of sugar cubes, instructing me in how to feed them to his horse.

“She’s beautiful.” I say softly, stroking the horse’s glossy neck. She tosses her head as if in agreement.

“Would you like to go for a ride?” Loki asks, and his eyes are so alive and animated with pure excitement that I couldn’t say no even if I wanted to.

“I’ve never ridden a horse before…”

Loki just smiles at me knowingly before he summons one of the stable hands. Before long the beautiful horse is saddled and Loki lifts me up onto her back, then swings himself up behind me. His arms wrap around me to take up the reins. The stable hand falls all over himself bowing us out the door. I thank him which seems to throw the man because his face blanks with surprise. Loki chuckles softly as he guides the horse along the cobbled path that leads out the castle’s back gate.

The path we follow leads us straight into the forests that surround the castle. Loki rides slow and steady with easy skill. I lean back against his chest, eyes taking in everything around me. It’s incredible. Soon we’re deep in the forest, so deep that we can’t see the castle anymore. It’s a beautiful wonderland straight out of a Tolkien novel! The trees are gigantic, reaching up into the sky, their trunks so thick that not even twenty people could reach all around them. There’s birds of every color flying around, squirrels and chipmunks which look like the ones on earth but don’t, because they have little, stubby horns. Once we see a huge buck, pure white, peering out from behind a bush that carries squat, juicy, purple berries. Loki informs me that it’s a kjorer stag. He says they are very rare creatures, even on Asgard, faster than most others, and that they only tend to approach people when they sense a pure heart.

Eventually we arrive at what was Loki’s goal. It’s a tree. A huge ash tree. I thought all the other trees were huge but compared to this one they’re positively tiny. It’s about the size of an average New York skyscraper. I think its crown reaches above the clouds.

My mouth has fallen open. There’s a strange sense of serene power radiating from this tree as well as a feeling of ancient peace that I can’t find the words to describe.

Loki dismounts smoothly then helps me down. I’m still staring at the tree. At its base is a maze of roots, some sticking out higher than my head. I reach out gingerly, wanting to touch some part of this amazing piece of nature. My fingers lightly graze the rough bark of the root closest to me. It’s as if I can feel the peace this tree radiates pouring into me through the contact. I feel as if I’m somehow suddenly connected to everything around me, the earth, the sky, the animals, Loki, this tree, the universe. It’s all one. One with me, and I am one with it. All made up of the same atoms and particles; always there, always reused; when one being dies another is born from the same atoms. In that way we may be made up of the same particles that once made up a mouse, a lion, a collapsing star, a rose, or a stegosaurus. Everything flows around me and within me and it’s as if the part of me that was always agitated and anxious ever since the night I was raped by my brother and his friends suddenly settles deep inside me. That settled feeling is enunciated by the fact that for the first time I can actually think of what was done to me and use the words, instead of obscuring it through various talk-around words that don’t really change the horror of it anyways. It makes what happened to me seem small, when compared to the entire universe and all the suffering it encompasses. Small, but not insignificant. I don’t feel the way I sometimes do; guilty because there’s people who have had it so much worse, so what am I whining about?! No, instead I feel myself settle into a part of the world that houses horror. But at the same time I become enveloped in the part that houses beauty. All of this… There are such terrible things out there, what happened to me being one of many variations, but there is also so much good, so many miracles. Loki, for example. My past will never leave me, it is a part of me now, I understand beneath the branches and amidst the roots of this giant tree. It will never go away, but I have survived it. I have survived despite their best efforts and now I am here standing beneath this magical tree. I know it has to be magical. Because how else would it have been able to do this; heal something so raw and ragged within me to bring me such peace.

I turn to look at Loki. He is standing well back, watching me calmly. I get the sense that he knew this would happen, or at least hoped it would. I hold out my hand to him wanting him to feel this same sense of healing, of peace, of things falling into place. He comes to me, slipping his hand in mine. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at me.

“This is amazing.” I whisper, not wanting to speak louder and shatter this peace.

He smiles softly in answer. “This is the Yggdrasil tree. It is at the very center of the universe and my people say that it holds the cosmos and all the realms together through the strength of its roots and boughs. They say it is the giver of all life, that everything in creation stemmed from its roots when it was barely a sapling. As it grew so did the universe. As it still grows so does the universe too.”

“It must be ancient.”

“It is. Come. Let us go closer.”

He leads me through the roots which basically form their own forest amid the forest. We clamber over them, me eventually knotting the dress up by my hips, leaving my legs bare because I keep tripping. I’d lost my shoes a while ago and now walk barefoot, which somehow accentuates the feeling of calm and stillness as it seeps into my body directly through the soles of my feet from the damp soil and rough bark. Finally we stand directly at the trunk. I tip my head back. I can’t see the top of this tree; from here it looks endless as it reaches far into the sky. All by itself my hand reaches out to touch the trunk. That same feeling as before floods through me though now about a hundred times more intense. Slow tears drip down my face. They’re not happy tears, or sad tears, or angry tears. They’re tears of something else; release, maybe. Relief. I’m not sure. But they’re not bad…

Loki’s hand lays itself down overtop of mine. I look up at him. His own face is serene and calm. “Sit with me?”

I nod and he lowers us to the ground, his back leaning against the tree, my own leaning against his front. We’re silent for a while, simply soaking up this atmosphere. After an indeterminable amount of time Loki breaks the silence. “My father…” he begins softly.

I stiffen in his arms for a second before I force my body to relax again. He doesn’t need me tense and pissed. He needs me calm and listening and accepting. I turn slightly in his hold until I’m lying sideways on his chest, one of my hands entangled with his.

He continues. “We have always been at odds. In one way or another for as long as I can remember. At first I believed it to be because we were so different from one another but as the years wore on I realized it was because we were alike. More alike than I wished to be which caused it’s own slew of problems since I rebelled desperately against this salient fact. I did not want to be like him. But alas, we are both stubborn, both set in our ways. We both follow our own path and often disregard others and their feelings in our courses of action to reach our intended outcomes.”

His voice vibrates in his chest beneath my ear and it is immensely calming, even considering the subject he’s talking about.

“Once I was able to admit this to myself, I began to attempt to change from these natural inclinations of stepping on those who stood in the way of my goals. I do not know how well I succeeded; I fear it was less than I my have wished to believe back then. But Odin never attempted to change as far as I know. For years he has treated me more harshly than Thor. I understand now that he was afraid I would inevitably turn into the monster I was born as unless he kept me tightly leashed at all times, and controlled my wilder urges, but he never explained; only ruled me with an iron fist while Thor seemed able to get away with anything.”

He sighs heavily, leaning his head back against the tree. I understand suddenly that part of the reason he took me here was so he could find the courage and the inner peace to talk to me about this. And so I would be calm enough to hear if without getting angry again. I do feel negative feelings, but it’s less blind rage and more sadness for him; for the poor child who only wanted to be accepted by his dad, but instead had to watch his dad accept only his brother until he learned that the reason he wasn’t accepted in the same way was because everyone assumed him to be a monster. I grip his hand tighter.

“I did everything I could think of to get him to accept me. He never said he was proud of me; not once. He frequently said it to Thor. I wanted his approval more than anything though I was too proud and headstrong to admit it to anyone, least of all myself. My schemes to garner his goodwill and pride became more and more convoluted and desperate; and in that desperation foolish and reckless, which eventually led to the happenings that preceded my fall and subsequent exile. I doubt he will ever truly understand or believe that I acted how I did because I wanted him to see, not necessarily that I would make better king than Thor, but that I would be just as worthy. I knew by rights the title was Thor’s as the elder son, but I wished at least to be a contender, and for him to realize my worth and perhaps have me appointed an advisor to the crown. Yes, I desired the rule but deep down all I truly wanted was a chance to help Asgard prosper. Of course I now understand that no matter what he never would have given such a powerful position to a being who, by definition, is Asgard’s own worst enemy, no matter how many times I proved myself.”

His eyes wander through the forest and over Gríma who is grazing peacefully among the roots. Her saddle is dotted with jewel bright birds, just sitting there, happily twittering their little birdy hearts out. Loki holds his hand in front of him and a small, sunshine yellow butterfly with tiny dark blue spots, descends onto his fingers, wings opening and closing lazily, feelers twitching.

Loki smiles down at it for a split second before he continues. “Today was a confirmation of what I already suspected. Which is why I spoke the truth to you, love, when I said that I was alright. I have made peace in my two years imprisonment with what I believed my father’s feelings concerning me were. But you were also right; it hurt hearing it confirmed, much more than I might have thought it would.”

I tear my eyes from the beautiful butterfly to look at his face. “You know, I can’t actually believe I’m saying this; but I think your dad does love you. Maybe not the best way. Maybe not the _right_ way. Maybe in different way as Thor; a more cautious way, but I still think he does. Now that doesn’t excuse him. I still want to kick him in the nuts but from experience I think you can’t really get as worked up over something unless you have strong feelings towards it… Now I don’t know how hard his heart actually is and if his duty as king overshadowed his duties as your dad, and he subsequently really _would_ have had you executed as your king, instead of being your dad. If he would have, then he is a dick; a huge one. But maybe he was just saying that because he wanted to intimidate you and make you feel small. In which case he’s still a dick, but maybe not such a giant one… I’m sorry. Am I making sense?”

Loki looks at me thoughtfully. “You are. I suppose I do not know his true intentions.”

“I’m not making excuses for him. He acted horribly and said some really shitty things to you and I don’t think you should just forgive and forget. He needs to realize that you’re not a monster. Maybe you need to let him in more since it sounds like you spent a good part of your life shutting him out. Which he also initiated, but I’m sure you’re continued pushing him away didn’t help. It was probably a really bad back and forth deal. He was distant, you pushed him away, he became more distant, you pushed him away further, blah, blah, blah… Maybe if you let him in more he’ll realize how you actually are and that his preconceived notions about how he _expects_ you to be aren’t true. But that’s your decision and you’d also be completely justified if you wanted to cut yourself off from him based on the way he treated you today and, by the sounds of it, before.”

Loki takes a deep breath. “I always wanted the father-son relationship he had with Thor. And you are right, love, I did push him away. I kept my distance and as such probably cemented my status as an outsider, not only in our family but in Asgard as well. I do not know though if I could let him in, if I could trust him enough to be my father even if he showed unwavering signs that he wanted to be.”

“Do you think he wants to be? Like, do you think what he said near the end of our… confrontation earlier means that he’s opening that door?”

“It appeared so at first glance, though perhaps that is only wishful thinking on my part. I suspect I will know more after dinner tonight.”

“So be polite. Don’t be distant but don’t barf up all your feelings either. Treat him like a distant relative; someone you know and are supposed to love because they’re family but really you’re mostly ambivalent. If he’s nice and doesn’t try to pick fights or look down on you, you can decide if you’re ready to let him in more. Take baby steps. But just remember that he’s got to do some work too. You can’t do all of it because you’re not the only one at fault here. In fact I’d say he’s got to do most of the work, you just have to respond in kind to whatever his attitude is.”

He sighs and we sit in silence for a while longer. “What have I ever done to deserve you, my love?” he asks after several minutes.

I look up at him and for a moment quite lose my thread of thought. His eyes; his eyes are unspeakably beautiful in the forest. You’d think that all the green around us would make them seem dull by comparison, but it doesn’t. It amplifies them until they look like moss, like the leaves, the needles, the grass, the shrubs, all that and a hundred times more intense. A deep, fathomless green, it's depths as ancient and wise as this tree and at the same time unbelievably young compared to it.

I stare. He tilts his head in confusion at my probably dumbfounded face.

“What was the question?”

He chuckles. “I just wondered what I could have possibly done right to deserve you, my love.”

“You were just being yourself."

He opens his mouth as if to say something, argue maybe, when his gaze falls over my shoulder. “Look, love.” He says quietly. “Slowly.”

I turn around carefully and feel my eyes widen. That huge stag, or maybe it’s a different one, is picking its way through the roots on delicate hooves. The dappled sunlight falls on its body, making the pure white hide look dotted with warm buttery yellow. The antlers on its head are regal and tall, lending the entire animal an unmistakably proud air. It walks closer to us and then almost demonstratively begins grazing practically at our feet.

“Only approach when they sense purity of heart, right?” I whisper to Loki not wanting to startle the magnificent creature.

“Yes…” Loki breathes sounding absolutely amazed. “I have never been this close to one before.”

“You’re pure of heart, see?!”

His arms around me tighten. “It’s you, love. It is all you. You make me this way.”

“And you make me this way.” I say then sigh in contentment and close my eyes, feeling the serenity wash over and through me completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ye... thas it. I absolutely love writing about asgard, making it seem kind of like earth on the surface but so very not like it when you look deeper. Also I have a thing for trees and the Yggdrasil tree is a real tree in norse mythology so i had to include it.  
> Other than that, more fluff ahead (yay), more Odin ahead (bleh), and eventually more conflict (uh-oh). Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed that totally unwarranted picture of me. Now you know the face of the weirdo who keeps leaving these endless rambling notes... 😛


	45. Dresses, Dinners, Plants, Beds, and Lingerie— A Little Bit of Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of fluff!
> 
> That's it.
> 
> That's all I have to say.
> 
> Enjoy!

We make it back with plenty of time to get ready for dinner. Frigga is waiting for us to help me get ready again. When she sees us she pantomimes horror because of the dirt smeared on my dress, cheeks, knees, and bare feet, and the twigs and leaves caught and tangled in my hair. My responding guilty expression makes her burst out in soft laughter. She puts her arm around me and assures me that it is quite alright, that magic is the best stain remover and seamstress for otherwise ruined clothing, and that she's very glad that Loki and I apparently had fun. For a second I'm kind of mortified at the vague way she says "had fun". It really looks like we'd spent the afternoon quite literally rolling in the hay; or the leaves... I think Loki's dirty mind is starting to rub off on me.

Frigga takes me to a room where I get to take a bath (no showers on Asgard) then when I’m done she dresses me in a light blue dress, with sleeves of a gauzy, almost white, material that hang down to the floor. Wide silver armbands encircle my upper arms keeping the sleeves slightly puffed. I wear a silver belt around my hips, and the dress splits in the front revealing a paneling of darker blue material in the middle. Frigga does my hair in a long plait that, instead of being braided, is simply knotted at regular intervals leaving little pouffes of hair all the way down. She also places a thin, silver circlet of leaves around my brow like a tiara of sorts.

When Loki sees me he stops dead. Instinctively my mind right away says it’s because I look like crap, but the residual peace and assurance from our earlier trip to the great ash tree is still thrumming through me, and it reassures me gently with the truth. He’s just completely taken by how I look. As am I by him, in fact. He’s dressed completely in black leather with gold accentuating his shoulders, throat, and forearms. Around his neck is a long black cape, the inside of which is a dark emerald green. On his head is a small crown-like thing with tiny replicas of the huge golden horns on his helmet, curling up by his temples, only slightly higher than his head.

“You look like a queen,” he says as he takes me in his arms.

“I beg your pardon?” Frigga calls jokingly from behind us. “There will only be room at this table for one queen.”

We laugh. Loki places his arm around me and rests his cheek sideways on top of my head. Frigga glows when she sees it.

“My apologies, Mother. Of course you are the one and only true queen. Annie is merely a goddess, more beautiful than Freya herself.”

Frigga smiles. “That she is, my son. You have chosen well.”

“I did not chose her mother, I was chosen by her.”

I grin. “I tripped into his life by accident and then basically refused to leave.”

He looks down at me. “And what a happy accident it was.”

  
The dining hall is huge, the dinner table huger. Thor meets us there dressed in dark grey with his red cape around his shoulders. He greets me warmly and claps Loki on the back with all the force and subtlety of a brewery ox. Loki smiles tightly but doesn’t comment. Odin isn’t even there. Only when we’re all sitting does he join us, falling heavily into the chair at the head of the table. We’re all spaced out along the giant thing and I wonder how anyone has meaningful conversations here, ever? There’d be no way to, without shouting at each other. There’s at least two meters of space between Loki and me, and we’re already sitting closer than anyone else is to each other.

The answer to my question is: they don’t. No one really talks. They just eat in silence. I quietly observe them even as I eat like a bird, my appetite diminished by my nerves. Next to the amount of food Odin and Thor put away my consumption is practically laughable. I notice that it’s not an awkward or uncomfortable silence that descends over the table. It's not entirely happy either, but I get the feeling that they’re complacent in it because they’re used to it, and because it's all they know.

But in the end nothing gets resolved over dinner either. After a final glass (bucket sized) of mead for Odin and Thor, everyone gets up to leave. Odin vanishes wordlessly. Thor claps both Loki and me on the shoulder, me, again, a lot more gently than his brother who almost goes flying face first into his goblet of wine. Frigga hugs both of us, and then Loki and I are left alone at this giant table. I immediately scoot my chair closer to his.

“Well, that was silent.”

He looks at me. “That was a good sign.”

_“How?”_

“My father often used dinner times to berate me loudly and extensively.”

“So you think the fact that he didn’t is a good thing?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Huh. You’re family is weird.”

“How were dinner times with your family?”

I pull my feet up onto my chair, folding my arms around them, tucking into a ball, and resting my chin on my knees. “Loud. Wild. Everyone competing to talk about their day. Kicking each other under the table when someone interrupted someone else’s story. Launching peas off forks at each other’s faces when Mom wasn’t looking. Her yelling good naturedly at us when she saw. Sometimes we’d have music playing and we’d all sing along between bites. Sometimes we’d have rousing political debates. My dad always found something to bitch about good naturedly. Usually traffic. It was always noisy.”

Loki looks thoughtful. A servant approaches clearing the plates. I smile and thank her when she removes mine from the placemat in front of me. She jumps about a mile, and almost drops the thing. A single fork slides to the floor with a clatter. I swoop down right away and pick it up for her. When I straighten she’s looking at Loki with an utterly terrified deer-in-headlights look, then takes the fork with slightly trembling fingers and scurries away.

I turn to Loki. “What was that all about?”

He looks away, a pink flush of shame creeping up his neck and over his face. “We do not always treat the servants with a lot of respect. Myself included.”

Oh. I look at him quizzically. “But I’m guessing you’re realizing that that’s wrong?”

He looks at me. “I am starting to.”

“Good. Then keep going. Everyone deserves respect, especially the people doing things for you.”

“I am starting to realize that you are right.”

“I’m always right.” I’m trying to keep the mood light instead of berating him. I don’t like the fact that he says he's rude to people who serve him, especially because my first part-time job was at McDonald’s when I was 15 and ei-ei-ei... the levels of pure rudeness and head-assery you encounter from people... But we’ve had so much heaviness already today and I don’t want to add to it. Besides he seems to be in the process of realizing that it’s wrong and as such I can just keep a watchful eye open and be ready to tell him if he’s ever rude in my presence. Hopefully he wont be. I think he wants to be nicer to those in his employ; his embarrassment suggested it. And he came to this conclusion by himself, he didn't need me to point it out first. Which makes me happy. Look'it me being a positive influence! I wonder if that same courtesy would extend to humans though... I somehow doubt it. Oh well. Baby steps.

I yawn hugely. Loki reaches out a hand and pulls me onto his lap. “Tired, love?”

I yawn again, nodding and curling up. Im absolutely exhausted. I guess interdimensional space travel will do that to a girl. I’m also feeling a dull throbbing starting in my left temple, a sign that I’m really extremely uber tired.

“You will need to walk for a little while yet. We cannot sleep here.”

“No? Dammit.”

“Or…” he rises to his feet in one powerful surge with me clasped to his chest. I shriek in surprise, grabbing onto his shoulders at the sudden spacial displacement. “I could simply carry you.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Oh, hush love. You are a feather. I could lift you with one hand."

“Show off! Put me down.”

He does. “I thought you were too tired to walk.”

“Never said I planned to walk.” I say moving around him, grabbing his shoulders and then jumping up onto him in a classic piggy back.

Automatically his arms hook under me knees, hoisting me up more securely onto his back. My arms wrap around his neck and I press my check against his. “Onwards, noble steed.”

He laughs as he carries me out the door. He walks us through the castle's countless hallways; up stairs, down stairs, along endless winding corridors, through doors so high I feel absolutely dwarfed. I think we wind up in one of the outermost spires. A narrow winding staircase spirals it's way up to the very top where there's an old, worn, wooden door. He unhooks one hand from under my knee and I interlock my ankles in front of him so I don’t slip right off. He places his hand on the door. The outline of where the weathered wood meets the stone begins to glow green. “By the Norns… she made them leave it.”

I frown. “What? Who? Leave what?”

He turns his head to the side to look at me. “My rooms. I placed a spell on the door so that nosy brothers and fathers would not be able to enter and snoop around. Only my mother might have conceivably been able to crack the spell work. But it appears that she did not. Not even on my father’s orders, since I am sure he demanded it.”

“How do you know? Maybe she did and then just put the spell back up?”

“It would have left traces of her magic.” He schools me gently. “My seiðr is green. See?” The door glows again. “Hers is yellow.”

“Oh, right. Yea, is saw that.”

“Shall we go inside?”

“By all means.” I’m acting blasé but on the inside I’m bursting to find out what his rooms look like. I’m expecting kinda dusty since he hasn’t been in them in seven years and apparently no one else has either. He places his hand on the weathered handle which also begins to glow. There’s a loud click and the door swings open.

The smell is the first thing that hits me. It’s not bad, not in any way! It’s Loki, but in such a concentration that it almost makes my head spin. A crisp scent, cool and minty, something like bergamot with undertones of sage and lemongrass. Cedar. Something elusive that is more amplified here in his living space. Rosemary, maybe? And amber.

He walks through the door, waving one hand at the ceiling. Orbs of pure light come on. They’re not lamps; they’re not supported by any kind of structure at all, instead they hover under the ceiling casting the room in a warm light.

I slide off his back, looking around. The furniture is sparse, the few pieces he owns are dark wood, weathered looking in that way that’s meant to look old and fragile but really is quite sturdy. The floors are grayish brown planks, with no carpets. The entire back wall is glass; a giant window overlooking the mountains behind the castle. There's massive shelves filled to bursting with books all along the wall to my left. But what surprises me immensely is the plants. They cover every available surface; big or small, leafy and green. Nothing flowering. Just leaves. Everywhere. I’m not even surprised at the fact that none of the plants are dead; though now that I think of it, that’s a part of it. I just never expected Loki of all people to be such a green thumb dude who loves flora so much.

I look around for him. He hasn’t followed me into the room, is still hanging out by the door. “What do you think?” he asks softly and I realize he’s actually anxious about what impression I get from his room.

“There’s no dust.” I say inanely, the first thing that pops into my mind.

He shakes his head. “Dust repellant spell.”

“And the flowers? How are they not dead? More magic?”

“Yes.”

I look around again, my eyes falling on the fireplace in front of which stands a lone, green, threadbare recliner. “It’s really cozy. I love it.”

Something like relief floods his features. “Truly?”

“Yes. Why? Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I thought you might think it too bare…”

“You have seen my room, haven’t you?” I say sardonically, picturing the bed, the dresser, the carpet; all of which were already there when I moved in, the bare walls, and the single cursory photo of my parents that stands atop the dresser.

“It was not the room you grew up in. It was simply a room you were passing through. I imagine your childhood domain to be quite different.”

I think of my room at home. Color. Everywhere. Bright yellow walls, a rainbow patchwork quilt, band posters on every wall, polaroids and photographs on every available surface, books piled up in the corners, CDs stuffed haphazardly into racks, clothes strewn about, stuffed animals on the bed… Yea, it was different. But it was me. And this… this is undeniably him, even if it's not what I might have originally pictured. It's better!

“I still love it. Happiness in simplicity, right?!”.

He smiles crookedly. “You understand.”

“I always understand you.” I yawn again.

“Come.” He stretches out his hand to me and when I take it he leads me through an adjacent door into his bedroom.

“Whoa…” I stop dead in the doorway. The room is dominated by a huge, dark wood canopy sleigh bed. The head and foot boards are intricately engraved, as are the four bedposts. The bed itself is covered in about a million gold tasseled pillows and deep rich emerald colored silk sheets. The windows in here are still huge, though they’re a large bay design, leading out onto a small balcony. A small, silvery, glittering windchime hangs in the corner tinkling with a sound that's somehow reminiscent of how diamonds would sound if they could make a noise. Dark velvety curtains; also green, hang ready to block out the light. There’s more overstuffed bookshelves in here too, as well as plants; large potted ones in the corners as well as in hanging baskets on the balcony. On the wall opposite to the window is another fireplace, along with a door I expect leads to the bathroom.

Loki stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders. “What do you think?”

“That’s a bed fit for a king!” I say while my mind spirals with thoughts of just what we could do in this bed. Damn. Calm down, naughty thoughts!

Loki’s own brain seems to be falling down a similar explicit rabbit hole because he bends down and whispers in my ear. “A king’s bed gets terribly lonely without a queen to share it with.”

I look at him sideways, and since he doesn’t pull back we’re basically nose to nose. “Is that a promise or an invitation?”

He laughs lightly. “Neither, love. Both. But not tonight. You have had a long day. Travelling to another planet, yelling at my father, riding to the most ancient being in the universe, a dinner of silence… You need rest, my love. Especially since I already wore you out so last night. We have all day and night tomorrow to… er… fully _enjoy_ this bed.”

I blush. How can he always make such a simple sentence sound so scandalous and hot and laced with innuendo. I know it has something to do with the delectable British accent but I’m actually too tired to dwell on it.

I yawn. “What do I sleep in? I don’t really wanna sleep in this…” I ask, lifting my arms to set the long sleeves sweeping over the floor.

“Allow me.” Loki passes his hand in a slow arc in front of my body. A warm glow surrounds me and when it subsides the dress is gone and I’m wearing a satiny, light green night gown thing that looks more like a traditional babydoll negligee with matching panties. I throw him a look. He’s smiling benignly, his eyes drinking me in hungrily.

Of course he’d chose to put me in this. At least it’s not see-through or lace. “Perv!” I mutter, though I smile. I turn around, walking slowly to the bed, unable to resist putting a little cheeky swing into my hips. A quick glance over my shoulder proves what I already suspected. His eyes are on my ass.

He chuckles lightly at my antics, then joins me, his own clothes shimmering greenly into black silk drawstring pajama pants as he walks towards me. No shirt. My eyes drop to his ripped chest, ogling him right back. He prods me gently to slip between the covers. I do and he follows, pulling me against him. A wave of his hand extinguishes the lights. Another lights the fire. A soft warm orange flickering overtakes the room as a quietly peaceful crackling begins to sound. Yet another wave of his magical hand opens the bay doors, letting a cool breeze swirl through the room. Satisfied with the comfortable ambiance he’s created, Loki lowers his hand and pulls me closer.

“I am so glad you are here with me.” He whispers.

“Me too. Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, love.”

“You’re really happy here…”

“That is not a question.”

“No, it’s not. But, like, aside from the whole hoedown throw-down with your dad earlier, you just seem so much more at peace. Is that because you’re out of prison, because you’re back among your own people, or because you’re home?”

He’s silent for a long time, mulling it over I think. “A little of all three, but a lot of you.”

“Me?”

“I’m happiest wherever you are, my love.”

“Me too. But what if I wanted to go to the moon?”

“Then you would find out what it felt like to have sexual intercourse in zero gravity, wouldn’t you now?!” he says with a salacious wink.

“Oh, god.” I laugh as my face flames, though picturing that is funny.

“Mm, yes. I am a god. Say it again.”

“Shut up. God of being annoying!”

Loki laughs then kisses the back of my head. “Go to sleep my wondrous, brave, crazy, little butterfly.”

“Butterfly?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

“I love you, my goddess of sweetness and protection.”

“And I love you, my god of cheesy one liners.”

I fall asleep to the silent shaking of his laughing body.

[https://www.google.ca/search?q=canopy+sleigh+bed&lr=lang_en&client=ms-android-bell-ca&hl=en&tbs=lr:lang_1en&prmd=isnv&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjlt4K8mKbkAhWxKX0KHUHvAsQQ_AUoAXoECA0QAQ&biw=360&bih=572#imgrc=4Kz6TAAbJoc9fM](https://www.google.ca/search?q=canopy+sleigh+bed&lr=lang_en&client=ms-android-bell-ca&hl=en&tbs=lr:lang_1en&prmd=isnv&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjlt4K8mKbkAhWxKX0KHUHvAsQQ_AUoAXoECA0QAQ&biw=360&bih=572#imgrc=4Kz6TAAbJoc9fM)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More conflict is coming, in fact it may have already started in the tiniest most unassuming way. That's just me trying to up the suspense...  
> That link at the very end is the picture I used as inspiration for how I imagine Loki's bed to look. Just with more green and gold, and darker wood. But honestly I feel like it's perfect.  
> I hope you liked. Thanks for reading!


	46. Frozen Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS for nightmares, some flashbacks, heavy anxiety, self hatred, and angst.  
> Smut ahead.  
> Enjoy

  
I’m cold. It’s the first thing I notice. Really cold. Freezing, in fact. My body shivers felling like it’s in a snowdrift. Did I leave my window open?

Slowly my sleeping consciousness slips into my waking one. I’m still cold; that part wasn’t a dream. But it’s less like I’m cold because the room is cold, and more because I’m pressed up against a block of ice or something.

A block of ice that’s shaking and moaning.

Loki!

My eyes snap open.

Sure enough, when I turn around he's beside me, obviously caught in the throes of another nightmare. His body has changed into his Jötun form in his sleep, icy blue, horned and freezing. I sit up scooting away from his writhing shape. As soon as the length of my body is no longer pressed to his he flips onto his back, hands clenching in the sheets by his hips as he twists and writhes. His eyes are squeezed closed, groans still falling out between his clenched teeth. Tears pour down his azure face.

His back bows up as if someone in the ceiling is pulling a string attached to his heart or something. A low keening cry escapes him, rending my heart in two. He's obviously in some kind of agony. I need to wake him! How do I wake him?

The idea comes to me in a flash of utter brilliance or foolishness. So far the only times I’ve woken him from a nightmare has been with arguable violence. Once I’d thrown something at him, the other time I’d blinded him. Both times hed answered with unconscious violence of his own; choking me, or shouting as he rose from the dream, ready to attack before he realised it was me.

But I’ve never tried to wake him with gentleness before. My mind blots out the risks, focusing on Loki and his obvious discomfort over any potential danger I might be putting myself in. I climb carefully atop him. His hips buck wildly and I almost fly off, but I lean forward bracing my hands on the mattress by his head. My hair brushes his bare blue chest, tickling the deep grooves there. I lean forward until my lips touch his cold cheek, wet with tears.

“Loki.” I whisper. “Loki, wake up.”

Suddenly the world flips and I’m on my back with Loki straddling me instead. His hands are closed like iron shackles around my wrists; tight and unforgiving. His legs are hooked around mine in such a way that I can't move them. A thrill of instinctive panic zings through me but the strange peace from my encounter with the tree still permeates my being and it calms me, telling me that, look, Loki is on the verge of waking up, instead of sending me headlong into panic.

And it’s true; he's almost awake. His red eyes are open, gleaming down at me, veiled with the residual horrors of his dream. His teeth are bared into a sharp fanged snarl and he's panting wildly, but I can sense the shadows slowly retracting the claws of their hold on him.

“Loki.” I say loud and clear and calm. “Loki, it’s me. Look at me. You’re safe!”

He blinks hard several times until those red eyes focus. “Annie?”

“Yep. It’s me.” I try not to wince at the literal bone crushing grip he's still keeping on my wrists.

He seems to notice it too because he launches suddenly off me. He hovers down at the foot of the bed, curled in on himself eyes on me, terrified, like a spooked animal.

I sit up and crawl towards him. He shies away. I freeze. “It's okay. It’s just me. I won't touch you if you don’t want me to. But I’m here.”

“How can you say that?” his voice is hoarse.

“Say what?”

“How can you say that you are okay?”

I frown slightly. “Because I am?”

He swallows hard. “Why are you not terrified? I… I was holding you down. I was hurting you…”

“It was a nightmare. It was just your nightmare, Loki. You reacted as you were waking up. I expected it. I’m fine.”

He gulps and shakes his head. “How can you stand to look at me? Like this? How were you not terrified upon awaking and seeing that you shared your bed with a monster?”

My heart breaks all over again. Of course after today he still believes that. Maybe his nightmare was even triggered by the events from earlier, since he's never woken up in this form before, or changed unconsciously, at least not in all the nights I’ve spent with him. I want to argue, to tell him again that he's not a monster, that I've never thought that and will never see him like that, not even in this form; that I think he's beautiful, but I know it would be like talking to a wall. Especially right now. So instead of telling him, I’ll show him.

I crawl forwards again. He presses himself further into the bedpost. “Don’t touch me. I am hideous.”

I hesitate for a brief second not wanting to touch him against his will. But I can sense that it’s not his will, not really. He's not trying to avoid my touch because he's scared for himself; he's scared for me, that I’ll be repulsed. And because I’m not; could never be, I keep crawling forward.

He curls in on himself trembling, and I can tell he's about to bolt, and so I reach out quickly pressing my hand to the first part of him I can reach. His forearm. Right over the scars.

He goes completely still beneath my hand. His shaking and trembling stops and he's no longer cringing away from me. His red eyes burn into mine from above his knees. I crawl closer putting my second hand on his bicep. I stroke both my hands over his icy smooth skin until I reach his chin and manage to tug it out from where he's pressing it into his curled up legs. I cup the back of his neck and start to lie back slowly, pulling him down with me. Slowly he unfolds his tall body and drapes it over mine, though he hovers, not touching me anywhere, either not wanting to freak me out or not wanting to make me cold. His eyes are alight with some kind of wonder though still burning with doubt, anger, and self hatred.

“You truly are alright…” his voice quivers.

“I keep telling you.” I say as I caress his face.

He just looks down at me, his expression half amazed, half mad. Probably because he expects me to be scared and since I’m not his mind is saying be scary so she gets scared of you the way everyone would say she should be. Utter BS. But I know how his mind works almost as if his thoughts are shouting at me.

I strengthen my resolve to not be scared. “I want you!” I whisper, grabbing his face to prevent him, should he attempt to, from pulling away. “Take me.”

His eyes close for a second and when they open again I see that somehow he's switched focus. He's still pissed at his loss of control, most likely, and vaguely shadowed by the nightmare. I’m hoping I can eradicate that the way he once did for me when I woke up from that absolutely horrible flashback back down in the cells. But now he's focused on me and his own body, on the attraction that's arcing between us even as he tries and fails to suppress it.

“I cannot change back,” he warns in a low voice laced with self disgust. “I have no control at the moment. I cannot… I don’t know what is happening… I…” his voice becomes faster, higher, more panicked again. I can tell that it's scaring him this loss of control and inability to change back to the form he perceives as less scary.

I try to pull his face closer to mine. When he doesn’t budge I rise up instead until I can press my warm forehead to his cold one. “I don’t want you to. Take me like this. I want to look at you. The real you.”

A heavy shudder passes through him before his head pushes down against mine, pressing me back down into the pillows. His red eyes glitter. “Are you certain?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life!” And it’s true. I have zero doubts about this. I want this. I need this. Him. In this way. We both do.

Before I can react, the little green babydoll is torn right off my body. I give a startled gasp, partly in arousal, partly in shock at the semi-violent gesture. He’s looking down at me, gauging my mood and if that scared me. I tangle my legs with his and attempt to roll us. He reads me, knows what I want and obliges me, flipping onto his back so I’m sitting astride him.

I sweep my hair over one shoulder and bend down pressing my lips to his cold chest. I feel him shiver slightly at the warm contact which to him, I'm sure, feels burning hot. I kiss and lick my way along the symmetrical grooves in his upper body, travelling down over his ribs and stomach. At his belly button I reverse and go back up on the opposite side. I follow the single shallow groove that runs up the side of his neck, then nibble my way up the underside of his jaw until I can kiss the deep clefts in his chin. From there I go up the side of his face over his sharply pronounced cheekbones, around his eyebrows, along his brow and down his nose. I leave his lips for last, finally kissing the corners and then all along their outline.

All of a sudden I’m on my back again, Loki's weight resting insistently atop me this time. “You drive me crazy!” he growls right before his hands slip into the hair at each of my temples, fingers tightening there, keeping my head firmly in place. His lips crash down on mine, tongue demanding entry to my mouth. I submit readily letting him take what he wants as he kisses me with all the fervor of a drowning man, bruising my lips. “How can you love me like this?” he snarls into my mouth and I understand that on some subconscious level he's punishing me for feeling like this because he doesn’t understand it. Because he thinks that I shouldn’t; that I should be like everyone else here would be, terrified of this form, probably trying to repel him with crosses and garlic or some such horseshit.

Well, not with me, buddy-boy! You can try to punish me for something you insanely feel I did wrong, but I’m not just gonna lie here and take it. I’m gonna give it right back to ya. I bite his bottom lip not all too gently. “How could I not?!”

His fingers still in my hair tighten until I feel a sharp tugging at my scalp. All of a sudden I become aware of the fact that his trousers and my panties have gone _poof,_ vanished into thin air, likely through his hand. His knee is nudging between my thighs, spreading them for him.

“You shouldn’t.” His voice is hard.

“Give me one good reason.” I clamp my thighs together. Not in fright, more in an obstinate refusal to give him what he wants when he’s being a jerk.

“I am a monster.”

“Bullshit!”

He glowers.

I take a deep breath and reach up to cradle his face. “I’ve told you before that I find you utterly beautiful, inside and out and in any way, shape, or form. You’re not a monster. A monster would not do what you’re doing right now, waiting for me when you so obviously want me. A monster would shove my legs apart, take what he wants, and my feelings be damned. I’ve met those monsters, Loki. And not one of them had your face!”

His head drops until it's buried in the crook of my neck. His grip in my hair changes subtly, now more desperate than angry, though still just as tight. Drops of cold fall slowly onto my skin and for a split second I inanely think that he’s melting. Then I realize that he's crying. His mood swings tonight are gonna give me whiplash!

“I keep thinking that I must have imagined you. I go to sleep every night afraid that I will wake up and you will be gone… that I scared you away… that I dreamed you…”

“No. Loki! _Jesus!”_ he breaks my heart. Shatters me. Everyday. This beautiful being who's so self assured, so full of swagger, but at the same time can't see his own worth, can't tell how important he is to me…

“I always expect to wake up back in that damned cell behind the glass divider where the air was so stagnant and stale I thought I must surely suffocate everyday. I expect it to be late summer again; that time before you showed up. I think I will wait and wait for the day you first stumbled upon me and the day will never come. The summer will wane into autumn, will wane into winter and you will not show. And my life will have no meaning. Because you are not real. How can you be real? How could I possibly be allowed to hold such a perfect being? What could you possibly see in me?”

“It's what you see in me, Loki.” I say softly, my voice wobbling as I cradle his cold, dark head against my chest, my fingers carding through his raven hair. “You see all of me, including the darkest, most wretched parts and you still want me. You’ve witnessed me being a crying, puking, screaming mess and you still held me and called me beautiful. You accepted me so completely and without question when I was too messed up to speak, when all the other people always looked at me weirdly. You took all off my broken part and you helped me put them back together. You hold my hand every step of the way I take on that road towards healing. You give me so much, including a whole other _realm…_ and through all that you prove to me what a calm, kind, caring, patient, and gentle soul you are. So many people wouldn’t do half the the things you did, especially to someone who started out as a crazy stranger. You’ve never been a monster. And you never will be. You’re just Loki. My Loki, whom I love and adore!”

His head lifts slowly out of its hiding spot. His face is shiny with tears. “I do not deserve you.”

“And I don’t deserve you. So let’s both just shut up and be at peace in our not-deserving-of-each-other togetherness.”

A small wavering smile teases his lips. “You have a succinct way with words, love, did you know that?”

“When I do talk I’ve been told that, yes. Are we okay?”

His fingers in my hair loosen, combing through the strands instead. “We are…” he still sounds hesitant but no longer so self deprecating.

“Ok, good, ‘cause there’something else I’d like us to focus our attention on.” I say, letting my thighs drop open.

Loki looks down at me intently, doubt flickering across his blue face again. “I still seem to be unable to change back.”

“Good. I want you like this.”

“You might get cold…”

“Baby, I’m about to spontaneously combust. It’d be good for you to cool me down.”

“Baby?” he sounds dubious.

“Baby!” I confirm.

He shrugs slightly. “Very well, who am I to argue with you. But, love, please tell me if you become uncomfortable in any way for any reason. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

I brush back some of the hair that’s flopped into his face. “I promise. But I trust you. You won't hurt me.”

“Never.” He vows putting his cold forehead to mine. His eyes are closed.

“Will you open your eyes?” I whisper.

He doesn’t. “Why?” his voice wavers with insecurity.

“They’re so stunning.”

“They are grotesque!”

“How can you say that?”

“They are unnatural.”

“Says who? And who cares?! They’re unique. I love red. It's warm. Like glowing embers. Like a sunset. Like roses, and rubies, and hearts. Like my mom’s car.”

They open. “My eyes remind you of your mother’s automobile?”

“Yup. Pleasantly so.”

He laughs shakily which was what I’d hoped to accomplish.

“Norns, you are something else.”

“Something good?”

“The best!”

His cool lips find the hollow of my throat kissing me, sucking the skin there slighty between his teeth, little nibbles telling me I’ll have a hickey there tomorrow. I arch my neck giving him better access, not caring about him marking me, though I probably will tomorrow. One of his hands slips down my body, the freezing touch burning curiously and leaving trails of icy fire.

I gasp when his fingers stroke over the quivering flesh between my legs finding me wet, waiting, and wanting.

“Oh, love.” He whispers into the side of my neck. “You have no idea what it does to me to find you like this, so ready and needy for me even in this form.”

“Then don’t keep me waiting.” I gasp out moaning indecently and his fingers slide higher, brushing over the part of me that sends jolts of pleasure zapping through my body. Loki's mouth latches onto mine, swallowing down my desperate little sounds. His breath is cool as it mingles with mine. He keeps his gorgeous eyes open because I asked him to.

When he pushes inside me torturously slowly my back bows upwards, ripping my lips from his. His hands soothe me. He doesn’t ask if I’m alright but I think my fingernails digging into his back might give him a clue as to what my answer would be.

He buries his face back in the crook of my neck, licking and suckling again, leaving more love bites I’m sure. His hands travel down my body and hitch my legs up around his waist one at a time. When he pulls himself out of me and pushes back in, my teeth sink into the blue skin of his shoulder. It’s kind of like biting ice cream; it hurts my teeth but I don’t release him.

“Oh, love…” he groans through gritted teeth. “Your body is so hot it is setting mine aflame.”

I pull his head up, wresting it out of my cleavage. His eyes find mine glowing a deep, dark red. They’re hungry with passion and need, lust and love, confusion, fear, anger and joy. He’s baring his soul to me through those eyes he so hates and it’s an indescribable feeling. Almost as indescribable as the feeling of him moving within me.

His arms slip beneath me, holding me tightly against him. It’s the most curious sensation of hot meeting cold, while the molten heat that spreads out from core combines with his frozen skin making me tingle all over and sending my confused nerves into overdrive.

The pleasure is becoming unbearable almost to the point of physical pain, but the absolute best kind. It feels so good that tears burn my eyes. Something takes over my body making my hips move rhythmically in time with Loki’s; undulating, pushing, grinding; harder, faster until we both reach our pinnacle and it feels as if the entire universe shatters into multicolored stars and fireworks around me.

I’m gasping and panting, sweat slicking my body while Loki is as cold as before, though his shoulders heave just as much as mine. Our hips are still pressed together and he's bracing himself on his hands, one on each side of my torso. His head hangs limply on his shoulders, his hair tickling my chest. Those fascinating horns curve up to the ceiling right in front of me.

Just as I reach out to touch one his head sweeps up. His red eyes are alive with panic. “I still cannot change back… I thought… I though after I… I don’t know what’s going on…” he sounds so afraid and desperate, probably picturing what will happen if he winds up stuck in this form. I wouldn't care but I know the bigoted minds on Asgard would. I have an instinctive feeling that he need to calm himself down; that this desperate panic he's feeling is somehow preventing him from recalling the illusion of his usual looks. I pull him down on top of me, wrapping my arms around him, pillowing his head sideways on my boobs.

“Shh, breathe. Breathe for me. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay.” I say in a soothing voice.

Slowly his hands come up, pushing underneath me, following the shape of my back, his cold fingers curling into my shoulders from the back, those tapered black nails digging lightly into my skin.

“What were you dreaming about?” I ask softly, not at all sure that it’s the right topic of conversation for this moment, but maybe talking about it will exorcise some of those demons from the nightmare.

“Falling.” He whispers brokenly. “Just falling. In darkness. There was no sound. No stars. There was just… nothing…” A giant shiver wrecks him and he presses his face in between my breast, crying. His fingers tighten urgently. His body shudders with quiet sobs. I hold him, feeling his tears dripping onto the bare skin of my chest. One of my hands gently kneads the back of his neck, the other one combs through his hair.

Suddenly inspired I start to sing just like he once did to me in a very similar situation. “ _Here comes the sun hm, hm, hm, hm_  
_Here comes the sun, and I say_  
_It's all right_  
_Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter_  
_Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here_  
_Here comes the sun hm, hm, hm, hm_  
_Here comes the sun, and I say_  
_It's all right_  
_Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces_  
_Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here_  
_Here comes the sun_  
_Here comes the sun, and I say_  
_It's all right…”_

As my soft, somewhat scratchy and out of tune voice rings quietly through the room Loki’s shivering stills gradually. At first I don’t notice it but then it becomes undeniable; he becomes warmer beneath my hands. By the time the song is done and I fall silent, and he lifts his head, his features are back to the pale, handsome, green-eyed ones most familiar to me.

I smile. “You’re back.”

His hand touches his face almost as if he can't quite believe it. He wipes away the tears. “My apologies.” he says somewhat stiffly.

“Don’t…” I say quietly. “Don’t ever apologize for crying; for feeling in front of me.”

He swallows hard. “You do not think it weak?”

“How could I think it weak; you baring your soul to me. It’s one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen you do, especially considering the fact that you’ve been raised for decades not to do it.”

He just looks at me. I stroke his cheeks. “I’ll never let you fall!” I say as an afterthought to his nightmare.

“You already keep me from falling every day. You fixed me…”

I shrug. “Can’t fix what’s not broken.”

A small teasing smile lights his face. “Flattery shall get you nowhere.”

“Really?” I say mock aghast, responding to his attempt at lightening both our bleak moods. “Didn’t it technically just get me laid?”

“I reiterate: flattery shall get you nowhere _else.”_

I’m about to rise and take that as a challenge, when he gently holds me down. “But only because you need to rest. A little bird has told me that tomorrow, or… later tonight in fact… my mother is throwing a ball in honor of celebrating my return to Asgard, though she is disguising it as a bash meant to welcome you, so my father finds no contest with her plan. Or not all too much, at least.”

“Where did you hear that?” I ask slightly surprised and apprehensive. I’ve never been much of a party girl, especially when one considers the last party I was dragged to way back in my first weeks at the Compound...

Loki chuckles. “My brother told me. He was never very adept at keeping secrets.”

“Thor is not a little bird. Hes more of a... giant muscular albatross.”

Loki snorts. “Then what am I?”

“Hmm…” I tilt my head to the side. “A falcon. Fast and savagely gorgeous, and dangerous. But also incredibly loyal once tamed.”

His eyebrow rises. “You think you have tamed me?”

“In the only way you can be tamed. You’re crazy for me, Odinson; don’t deny it. If I told you to jump you'd ask _how high, love?_ ” the last is said teasingly in a horrible imitation of his voice and accent.

His eyes narrow slightly, then his arms wrap around me strong and unyielding like iron fetters. “Tamed me, have you, love? But what is it then that I have done with you?”

“Healed me,” I say softly. “Changed my life. Made me better.”

He’s silent for a long time, then his constricting arms loosen. “A very good answer.” He says gruffly.

Now that he lets me again, I turn around in his arms. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I know you won't be tamed. I just meant I’ve… I don’t know, made you… um…”

“Better?” he asks reusing my word. “Because you have. In every way. I am not offended, love. There is no one I would rather be tamed by than you.”

“It's still not the right word though…”

“It matters not. There are no words for what you and I have, for what we mean to each other. We are something wholly new.”

I smile. “I like that. Very poetic.”

He chuckles and pulls me in even closer. “Go to sleep.”

“Can I have my clothes back?” I ask. “It’s very distracting not having them on…”

He smiles crookedly, then wiggles his fingers. In another shimmer of green both my racy little babydoll and his PJ pants reappear back in their proper places.

I can't help but grin slightly wistfully. “That is still so cool. I wish I could do magic.”

“You are magic.” He says softly, placing his hand on my waist and running it up and down my side slowly. “Your passion, your courage, your vibrant heart, and eager curious mind. All contained in this small, soft body. You are so fragile…” his large hand slide up my body, over my stomach, between my breasts, until his agile fingers wrap around my throat squeezing very lightly. “…yet so strong. I could snap you in half so easily and yet…” he cups my cheek tenderly. “…yet I am more careful with you than I have ever been with anything in my life. You are like spun glass but with a core of strongest steel. And a heart of purest gold. This little life of yours has been so short so far; so fleeting, the blink of an eye, a single breath for me, but you filled that short span of time with so much that matters. You are magic love; without even trying.”

My eyes are wet by the time he finishes. “Man you really busted out the book of prose today, didn't you?!”

He laughs. “Only for you.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’d be jealous otherwise.”

“Do not worry, love. No one has ever known me as well as you do, or seen this side of me. And no one ever shall.”

“See, now that sounds so much better than "tamed".”

He chuckles. “Go to sleep, my little sparrow.”

“Sparrow?”

“You were assigning birds to us earlier. I thought this to be a fitting match for you. Sparrows symbolize joy which is what you bring me in boundless amounts. They also symbolize protection in Asgardian lore, and after today I have no doubt that you would face the whole universe to protect me. I have also heard that sparrows represent true love which is what you are to me; my one true love.”

“More poetry…” I whisper.

He smiles, tucking me closer against his body.

I picture a sparrow next the the falcon I’d envisioned him as. It’s an interesting image. but it actually doesn’t seem wrong… “Yeah… yeah, I see it. I could get on board with being your sparrow.”

“Go to sleep!” he orders sternly.

I roll my eyes at the demanding tone. “Yes, sir.”

“You are on Asgard where I am a prince. That should be _yes, sire_.”

“Whatever you say, Princey!” I yawn.

He snorts. “Tamed my arse…” I hear him mutter good naturedly as I drop back into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for readin'!!!


	47. Dance With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS for insecurity, anxiety, and a bit of nightmares and fear. Also loads of fluff. We're just overloading the fluff over here. Marshmallow fluff! Woohoo.  
> Also another little surprise at the end.  
> Enjoy.

The next day finds us sitting in what is officially known as the Queen's Rose Garden. It’s exactly what it sounds like: Frigga’s garden where she cultivates different roses collected from all over the universe. There's thorny blooms of every color imaginable, large and small, and it smells absolutely heavenly. Loki and I have spread out a blanket somewhere in the middle of all of this perfection. I’m lying with my head resting on his thighs, looking up at the pale shadows of the twin moons in the sky while the sun warms us and Loki feeds me strawberries.

“Hey?” I ask around a mouthful of juicy fruit. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Suddenly I become insecure and unsure, not wanting to know the answer to this question after all. “Never mind…”

Loki pulls away the strawberry he was just about to push between my lips. “Tell me.”

I shake my head obstinately, my cheeks beginning to darken.

“No more sweet treats for you, my sweet, until you tell me what is on your mind.” he chides in a teasingly serious voice.

I blush harder, bringing my hands up to hide my face. “It's stupid. Too embarrassing. And it doesn’t matter.” I say, voice muffled by my palms.

Loki's fingers encircle my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face with that gentle though undeniable strength of his. “If it weighted on your mind for even a moment then it matters. And you do not need to feel embarresed by anything you wish to ask me; I would never find a query of yours to be _stupid,_ as you called it.”

I clench my jaw, looking up at where his face hovers sideways above me, blocking out the moons, the sun, and the sky. I shake my head again.

“Please?” he cajoles.

I’m helpless against his pleading. Unable to hide my face because he's still holding my wrists tightly ensnared, I squeeze my eyes shut. “I was just wondering how many women you slept with before me…” I blurt out, my cheeks on fire.

He goes eerily still. His fingers release my wrists and I immediately hide my flaming face behind my hands again.

“Where did this question come from, love?”

Is he mad at me? I can't tell. “Something you said last night…”

“What did I say?”

“That part where you said that no one's ever known you as well as me, or seen the sides of you that I have. It just… occurred to me out of nowhere…”

Loki is silent. I open my fingers to peek through them. He’s not looking at me, is staring out into the distance, his face stony, his jaw working slightly.

“Are you mad at me?” I peep.

He refocuses on me, his features gentling, hands stroking over my hair. “Of course not, love. You asked a very valid question. I only fear you may be disgusted with me for the answer and therefore I dread giving it to you and am angry only with my past self.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I say, lowering my hands even though curiosity is burning through me. At the same time jealousy twists my insides. I know he obviously wasn't a virgin when we met. He's way too experienced, not to mention _o_ _ld,_ and so I expect the number to be comparatively large, based not only on his age but also on what he just said and his obvious reluctance to tell me.

“You asked me, love. I swore to never lie to you or keep anything from you.”

“It doesn’t matter though. You’re with me now, and you can't change your past, nor should I act like I miraculously and unreasonably expect you to do so just because I'm jealous.”

He swallows hard nodding slightly. “Do you wish to know?”

I debate my answer. In the end I can't say no though, no matter how much I want to. I know it'll eat me up inside later; not knowing. I nod timidly.

“I used to visit one of Asgard's most exclusive brothels at least twice a week. Often more."

The numbers tally up in my brain quicker than a roll of ticker tape flying through an telegraphic tape machine. Figuring in his age… not even Asgard can have that many prostitutes; there must be some who got to know him quite well, no matter what he says. I feel slightly sick. I’m not judging him for going to a whorehouse. I’m not! I’m just twisted up with jealousy inside at the thought of all the other women who got to be intimate with him long before I ever knew him; decades before I was even born.

Loki bends over me until we are face to face though his is still upside down. He cradles my cheeks between his palms. “If I had known you were out there, if I had known you were destined to be born I would have waited for you. I would have searched the realms for you far and wide, staying celibate until I found you. But I did not know and so I attempted in the only way I could think of to fill this hole; this void, in my heart. But nothing has ever been able to fill it. No one. Not until you came along.”

My heart swells at his words; swells but also cracks because he was so lonely, so starved for affection that he turned to the artificial kind that he could buy from women. “Really?”

“Truly.”

I swallow hard. “So… you said you went to a brothel…”

He nods, shame rising in his eyes.

“Don’t be ashamed. I’m not judging you. I just wondered… if you’ve ever… in your bed…?” It's my turn to feel the embarrassment flooding my face.

He shakes his head. “Never. Only you.”

“Really?” I find that hard to believe.

“I do not share my personal belongings and domain with many. You are so far the only one who I have never harboured second thoughts with over this.”

“Seriously?” The only one? In 1207 years?

“Yes.”

“Wow…”

“You are more special to me than words can express, darling. The fact that I was lucky enough to find you… It amazes me anew every day.”

“Me too…” I whisper. “And technically I found you!”

He smiles carefully. “So are we okay?”

I nod even though there's absolutely no reason for us not to be. He had a life before I came along and it wouldn’t be my place to be mad or annoyed at him for it. I don’t know where that question was even born from; insecurities I guess, but once it occurred to me it wouldn’t go away, nudging insistently at my brain until I couldn't help but blurt it out. But whatever insecurities bred it, they have been silenced now by his assurances. I suspect that it’s only temporary silencing but I can hope not, and I can work on it. Because I know that he loves me, and I'm beginning to grasp just how _much_ he loves me.

“So okay!” I whisper, pulling him closer to kiss him upside down.

  
That night Frigga once more helps me to get ready for the party that she says is for both me and Loki. The pure joy radiating off her is catching and before long I’m getting over my apprehensions about this night. Today she dresses me in a teal dress with a little see-through cape thing that hangs over my shoulders and down past my knees though it doesn’t reach the floor. Around my neck is a thick band of glittering green gems that extends straight down my body, turning into a belt around my waist. I wear a thick matching crystal bracelet around each wrist. She puts sparkling emerald stud earrings into my ears as well, and little black shoes with a low heel. My nails are magically painted magenta. She also leaves my hair open to tumble in a soft shining mass around my shoulders. By the time she is done the only assessment I can form is that I am glowing. I havent seen myself looking this alive in years. A tentative hope stirs. Maybe there is something looks-wise for Loki to see in me. Then I picture his savage beauty, feral grace, and lethal handsomeness and that hope withers. Apparently those feelings of peaceful self assurance evoked by the Yggdrasil tree have started to wear off…

I shake off my melancholy to thank Frigga. She loops her arm through mine, leading me right to the main hall where Loki will meet us. She keeps up a steady stream of chatter along the way, pointing our her various favorite pieces of art and explaining where she got each and what its meaning is to her and in the world. I like listening to her. She has a calming voice and manner, and she doesn't seem to mind that I don’t have a lot to say. I know Loki has told her about me and some of my previous and still enduring issues, because they had tea together this afternoon while I hung out on his balcony, soaking in the sun. This has caused an explosion of freckles to bloom across my nose and cheeks, which I think Loki will be absolutely thrilled about. I had decided to not join him, even though Frigga graciously invited me along, for the same reasons Loki bowed out of dinner with my parents that one night. They deserved some family time. But before he left, he asked me what I was ok with him telling his mom. I told him that I was ok with everything as long as she please not question me about it. And she hasn’t. When she saw me she gave me a long hug, then kissed my forehead, and that was that. I’m very grateful to her for honoring my request, and glad that I can read no judgement or pity in her demeanor. Just acceptance. I think I already love her like a second mom!

We can hear the sounds of the party from several hallways away. It reminds me so much again of that last party I attended on Lucas' arm that I start to feel vaguely queasy, and my footsteps slow as a result. Frigga stops and turns to me. “Are you alright, Annie, dear?”

I nod. Then I swallow once and shake my head. “What… um… are people in there expecting anything of me?” 

“Oh, no, dear. This is simply a party. No one will force their attentions on you. They will simply dance, eat and drink, and make merry. In fact I expect a vast number of them to be far into the drink by now, which is why I purposefully assured that we would be fashionably late, so no one would bother you and Loki. By now they will all be quite focused on their own enjoyment and flagons of mead.” She laughs airily.

I’m warmed by the fact that she considered my comfort and went as far as she did to ensure it. We keep going until we reach a ginormous pale oak door engraved with a giant dragon or winged serpent that curves sinuously over both sides of the portal.

“Ready?” Frigga asks me with a cheeky wink.

“Hit it!” I say, which makes her laugh brightly.

She throws open the door and the sound overwhelms me. We step into the room coming out on a wrap-around section of the top floor that goes all the way around the giant room. Directly across from us is a stage that houses a live orchestra which is providing the rousing music for the guests one floor below. I stop at the railing staring down at the party in awe. The giant room is filled with hundreds of people, all in multicolored dresses, shirts, robes, and capes looking like they fell straight out of an illustration of a medieval bazaar. Large bouquets of flowers line the walls, colorful tapestries are strung up at regular intervals, and torches hang between the high, narrow windows through which the evening light filters. The marble of the floor is gleaming, and a few couples are dancing their way through the room. Near the back stands an endlessly long table laden with food; buffet style, and dozens of barrels of what I assume is beer, dot the walls. Little twinkle lights without an actual strand to connect them in any way, dot the ceiling like a million stars, The banisters of the wide, grand marble staircase are strung with garlands of leaves, roses, and colorful streamers. A dark fuchsia carpet leads down the stairs themselves.

But the most impressive and amazing view in the whole hall is Loki, who stands waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. He looks absolutely regal even though he is wearing the most casual outfit I’ve seen him in since my Ziggy Stardust shirt, and Tony’s sweats. It’s a green top, billowy at the sleeves but narrowing to skin-tightness at the wrists. The front is laced loosely, exposing delicious inches of his bare chest. Around his waist he wears an olive green belt with a large, ornate, gold buckle. His pants are a darker shade of green, tucked into boots of the shiniest lack leather I’ve ever seen, that reach up to just below his knees. His hair is open and slicked back today, his eyes sparkling happily at me.

I hadn’t seen him after his tea with Frigga. Instead the woman herself came to Loki’s rooms to help me get ready there, while Loki prepared somewhere else. It's the longest time we’ve been apart since he was still imprisoned in the Compound’s basement and for a moment I reflect on how easy it was. I missed him; I wanted to be with him because I am happiest when I get to spend time with him no matter what we’re doing, but it didn’t feel like it used to, like I’d choke without him. For a moment I get scared. Does this mean that I no longer need him? But no. A new feeling of assurance rises in me like a bubble of warmth, telling me that I need him just the same, but now it is in a much healthier way. I want to need him, I am not solely dependent on him for air. I can take care of myself better now but I chose to do it with him by my side because he makes it easier for me, but conversely I also make it easier for him. I want to be around him for so many reasons, not just because he helps me to breathe. He also makes me laugh, makes me happy, makes me want to be better. And this type of need is stronger; it feels even more intimate than the other.

A wide smile stretches my face as I walk down the stairs towards him, pulled by his presence like a magnet to steel. His answering smile is just as wide. When I reach the bottom of the stairs he sweeps into an elegant bow. I do my best to drop a curtsy, but it's clumsy which makes him laugh low and slow. He pulls me into his arms, looking closely at my face. His smile stretches wider before his hands come up lightly prodding the new freckles on my cheeks as if he were counting them. I knew he’d love them! “You look radiant.” He whispers hoarsely. “The brightest light in this room.”

I flush with pleasure. “You look real spiffy yourself.” I say with a flirtatious smile. He leans down to kiss me in appreciation.

“Let us mingle.” He invites before he feeds my hand through the crook of his elbow and we set off through the crowds.

On Loki’s arm I’m no longer nervous about interacting with people. I’m probably still shy but that was still usually my nature, even _before._ I’ve always been an introvert; my introversion just reached toxic levels after what happened, happened. But I find I’m able to smile and reply to the odd question directed my way, and when one or the other royal lord or lieutenant picks up my hand to lightly brush his lips over my knuckles in introduction; all under Loki’s critically beady eye, I don’t find myself shuddering inside quite as much as I might have as little as a week ago.

I know it’s due to Loki’s presence but still this doesn’t feel like it’s the same level of dependency as I would have had before. This feels good; comfortable. I know I could manage this without him there, but he makes it easier and better as he makes so much else, and so why would I choose to make things harder for myself; for both of us?!

He leads me over to the buffet and we eat at a small round table for two. While we eat Thor comes up to us surrounded by a small group of people. He greets us exuberantly and I can tell he's drunk. Seeing this I again remember that first time I ever saw him at the Compound's monthly party where he was also drunk. For a second my brain tries to make me dwell on what happened right after that again, but then the new part of my brain, which I think is the part in charge of my healing, pushes the encroaching darkness away by reminding me that no matter what happened that night it was also the first time I realized how much Loki helped me, which might never have happened otherwise.

I smile at the new comers who Thor introduces as Lady Sif and the Warriors Three: Volstagg, Hogun, and Fandrall. I’m a tad weary because I remember Loki telling me that once upon a time they chose Thor over him and basically told him that he wasn’t their friend and that they only tolerated them because of his older brother. But they're nice enough and Loki himself is quite familiar with them, joking and laughing, and so not wanting to cause tension or a rift, I relax.

When they leave us, Loki invites me to dance. I smile widely, sensing an opportunity to surprise and impress him. I place my hand in his, letting him lead me out onto the dancefloor, after I slip out of my shoes which had been beginning to pinch my toes. The cool marble feels good agaisnt my bare soles.

Loki sweeps me off into an easy waltz and I can see the surprise register on his handsome face when he realizes that I can dance. And not just in a deceptive good-at-faking-it kind of way; I can actually dance well.

“My granddad taught me!” I say with a laugh in response to his face. “We used to go hot-footing and soft-shoeing through his living room whenever I visited.”

“My compliments to him; he seems to have taught you well!” Loki says before he steps up his game in response to my skill, sweeping us in wide turns and twirls through the room. By the time the music finishes a circle of people has formed around the perimeter of the dance floor and they all start clapping. Loki bows low and I perform another quick curtsy, this one slightly more elegant, my cheeks flushed from the exertion of the dance and from embarrassment at the standing ovation. Loki pulls me back into his arms and, mindful of my lesser developed stamina and endurance, begins to move a lot slower and more contained.

We keep revolving in slow circles, our eyes never leaving each other’s, both content in this silence until an older gentleman bumps into Loki from behind.

“My apologies, your majesty.” He mumbles.

“Not a problem, Lord Bjornson.” Loki says easily, spinning me off again.

He grins down at me suddenly, leaning in to press his forehead lightly to mine. “He threw off my groove.” He whispers.

I laugh aloud which makes some of the couples surrounding us glance our way with smiles of their own. Loki too smiles widely in response to my noise of joy.

“Shall I throw him out the window?” I ask.

It's Loki’s turn to draw looks with his laughter, though the faces that turn to him look a lot more surprised at their younger prince’s sounds of merriment than they did for mine.

We dance the night away. When darkness has fallen outside and the two moons glow in the sky; one white, one pink, my head starts to throb again. I blame it on the loud music and the constant chatter and laughter. I stretch up on my tiptoes to tell Loki. He looks at me concerned but I assure him that I’m alright, I just need to get to somewhere more quiet.

He immediately gets us ready to leave. The only person we actively search for to say goodbye to is Frigga. She is, if possible, almost more concerned about me than Loki, giving him various herbs to administer to me to ease the pain. She actually carries these around in her pocket, which makes me giggle. Classic witchyness from a woman who looks nothing like a stereotypical, classic witch.

Frigga winks at me, then send us on our way. We walk the path through the castle, back to Loki's chambers slowly. Our hands are entwined and my head rests against Loki’s bicep as we walk. Pushing my throbbing temple against him is easing the headache slightly.

In his room Loki tucks me into his bed then leaves to brew the herbs Frigga gave him into tea for me. He comes back, stirring honey into a brown clay mug, the other contents of which steam invitingly and smell slightly spicy, slightly sweet. He sits down, reclining against the headboard. I lean against him, sipping my tea which is delicious, while he opens a book on Asgardian fairy tales. It’s so familiar. Me sitting with him, drinking tea, and him reading to me; we’ve done it so many times and it's just as wonderful now as it was then. Better even, because now he's free; he's home. He's no longer a prisoner.

The tea does ease my headache somewhat and I start to doze off agaisnt Loki's shoulder. Half in the land of snooze I feel him very gently lowering me down to lie flat. He plucks the mostly empty mug from my hands and pulls the blankets up around my shoulders. His large body spoons mine, and I feel him planting a gentle kiss on my throbbing temple. The remainder of my headache evaporates as I slip fully into sleep.

  
Something is weird. Off. My body feels heavy as if it’s weighed down with lead. It’s a lot more effort than it should be to peel open my eyelids. When I finally manage to my heart begins to pound wildly in my chest. I’m not on Asgard anymore. And I’m not on Earth either. I have no idea where I am. The landscape is barren and grey, dry with craggy rocks reaching into the night sky which is overcast with black clouds. Slow flakes of snow drift down from above. I look around feeling my heart in my throat. Something about this place strikes me as very wrong, instinctively makes me terribly, terribly afraid. But I don’t know what. I’ve certainly never been here before. It just has an eerie, threatening aura. Dimly my brain begins to realize that part of that aura seems to come from what I thought were large, jagged boulders. They’re actually not. What surrounds me are the ruins of buildings, crumbling and blackened by fire and soot. The floor beneath me is charred.

I raise my head feeling the fear tying my throat shut. Where am I? Why am I here? Where is everyone? Should I call out? What’s happening?

Suddenly I hear the shifting of rocks behind me and whip around. There’s a figure in the background, the sight of which fills me with dread so pure and instinctive that it feels like my whole body is alight with panic. It’s coming closer…

Closer…

Closer...

I sit bolt upright in Loki’s bed, short winded and gasping. My hand claws at my chest feeling the wild hammering of my heart beneath it. The headache is back, pounding a steady drumbeat in my skull.

Dream. It was a dream. Another nightmare. But what kind of a dream was that? It felt so real!

Loki stirs next to me, his eyes opening to glow greenly in the darkness. “Annie, love?” his voice is husky with sleep and concern. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“Yes… no… yes. But not the usual kind. I… it was just weird. I’m fine; it’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t…”he mumbles sleepily into the pillow. “You are not in my arms.”

His slightly grumpy complaint is exactly what I need, soothing my frayed nerves like a balm. I smile slightly than lie back down, wriggling my body backwards on the mattress until I’m pressed against Loki from head to toe.

“Much better.” He murmurs in a muffled voice, as he buries his face in my hair. “You smell like strawberries.”

His sleep-slurred pronouncement makes me smile and I snuggle back into his embrace pushing my throbbing temple into the pillow to alleviate the pain, and putting the weird dream forcibly from my mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, so wht was the meaning of that ending do we think? Completely innocuous or trouble ahead?  
> Did you like the picture? I worked on that one a lot longer than the last one amd I've been super excited to post it. The scene is right about where they're laughing about the "threw of my groove" moment.  
> I liked writing this chapter, theres a lot of stuff happening including the insecurities in the beginning which I feel aren't completely unfounded though it would be shitty of her if she was mad at him for having a past. Which she wasnt so all good I guess... not quite sure why I put that part in...  
> Anyway, hope you liked.


	48. Retail, Rubies, and Ravens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for family confrontation.  
> Thas it.  
> Enjoy.

When I wake up the next day the dream hovers in the back of my mind, but in the bright sunny light of day it no longer seems quite so scary.

Loki is already up, bright eyed and bushy tailed while I grump around, hiding beneath the blankets, not wanting to get up yet. I mean, aren’t I supposed to be on vacation?!

Loki steals my blanket. “Hey!” I complain trying to grab it as it’s yanked away, but the smooth silk slips right through my fingers.

“Wake up!” he sing-songs in an annoyingly chipper voice. “It is Market Day."

“It’s what?”

He drops himself down on the mattress beside me which makes me bounce. I grunt.

“Market Day. When all the vendors, and farmers, and merchants trot out their wares in the castle courtyard. There shall be food, festivities, street performers and plenty to see for one who has never been to Asgard before.”

I rub the sleep from my eyes. “So kind of like a medieval fair?”

“A what?”

“Never mind. But why do we have to get up so early?”

“The sun has been up for two whole hours!”

Which means that it’s about 8. Ugh! Finally I’m able to sleep in again without being interrupted by nightmares about my past every night, and then this lovable idiot decides he needs to bust in and rob me of my well deserved sleep. I was denied it for over two years, dammit.

I grab a pillow and smash it over my face. Even through the thick goose down I can hear Loki laughing quietly. “Last chance, love.”

I mumble something unintelligible even to my own ears into the pillow.

All of a sudden the world skews around me. I shriek loudly, finding myself to be draped ass up over Loki’s shoulder. “What are you doing, jerk. Put me down!” I cry, now wide awake, though I can’t help but laugh.

“I gave you more than a fair warning, love. You did not heed me. I took matters into my own hands.” Loki says sounding fake-ly regretful.

I reach down, smacking the flats of both my palms against his tight, linen pant covered ass. “Put me down!”

He reaches up and swats me back on my own butt, making me squawk unbecomingly, which in turn makes him laugh. He carries me right through the door to the bathroom and I hear the sloshing of water filling the tub. “You wouldn’t!” I gasp, sure that he's not going to ruin the new soft pink nightgown he gave me last night.

“Oh, wouldn’t I?!” he challenges right before he dumps me directly into the water.

I splutter as I’m submerged, coming up coughing, laughing, and squealing. “It’s _cold!!!_ ”

“All the better to wake you up, my darling.”

I try to get up to scramble out of the tub but his hands close on my shoulders, holding me down easily.

“You’re horrible! Let go!” I shriek though my words are practically unintelligible because of my laughter and the more prevalent teeth chattering.

Loki just laughs evilly. Then he reaches one hand into the water and twiddles his fingers. Slowly the temperature rises until it is warm and comfortable.

“Awake now?”

“I’m gonna get you back for that!” I warn direly.

The God of Mischief just laughs.

About an hour later we find ourselves down in the shadow of the castle surrounded by little booths and stands with straw thatched roofs, or covered in makeshift tarps of colorful, though sun-faded fabrics. Carts stand behind them with horses, donkeys, and oxen trying their best to– not so discretely, munch away at the vegetable wares of the farmers when they’re not looking. The cobblestone square of the courtyard is dusty in the morning sun which is just beginning to gather strength. People are milling about everywhere, some just strolling and shopping at random through the booths, others clearly on a mission with bags and baskets swinging from their arms, intent on getting only the freshest and finest produce no matter how much they have to negotiate. Dogs and children are always underfoot, running around chasing each other through the stands, dodging and winding around the bodies of the patrons. The air itself smells of straw, of flowers in the sun; kind of like a hothouse, of sweet baked goods, freshly made bread, and just a hint of manure though it’s not overwhelming or bad at all.

It’s loud; the different merchants appraising their wares, the women haggling over the price of a dozen fresh eggs, the laughter and squealing of children, the barking of dogs, the mooing of the cows, and just the general chatter of the shoppers all competing with each other to make a not unpleasant din. At first I feel slightly uneasy as I always do in big crowds, but then I’m swept away in the excitement, contentment, and general sense of community of the Asgardians on Market Day and start to relax and truly enjoy the experience. Besides people respectfully clear a path when they see Loki coming, bowing and curtsying to the younger prince who they haven’t seen in years. Loki waves off their shows of respect with imperial hand gestures. The odd person calls greetings or words that express their happiness at having him back, which genuinely makes him smile. No one is rude or condescending, and no one looks angry that he’s here, or like he should be locked up instead. But they do look curiously at me, though Loki’s arm around my shoulder shelters me and inexorably encloses me in that bubble of protection he exudes that keeps the people at a respectable distance.

We browse through the shops which appear to be selling literally everything from clothing, to fresh fruits and vegetables, to eggs and milk, baked good, jewellery, horses, knick-knacks, decorations, furniture, art work, weapons, herbs and spices, candy, flowers, alcohol, fancy dishes, even live chickens and entire pigs.

Loki buys us little sweet cakes dripping in honey and sprinkled with cinnamon for breakfast, using fat, heavy copper coins to complete the transaction.

Then I tow him all over the grounds and he follows me readily, smiling at my excitement. I’m completely over the moon at all of the things there are to see. I can’t decide which my favourite stand is. Is it the blacksmith’s one with the heavy, ornate, beautifully crafted swords and knives? Or the one with the high barrels filled to the brim with brightly colored, powdered spices? Or maybe it’s the shoemaker’s stand, who’s shop is surrounded by the rich warm smell of leather and who’s creations look so incredibly delicate yet sturdy at the same time. Or maybe it’s the lady who sells jewellery, precious stones inlaid in intricate finely crafted settings of silver and gold, bright jewel drop earrings hanging on display on a real tree branch and glittering gorgeously in the sun.

We watch the street performers: dancers, musicians, dog trainers who make their little yippy charges jump through hoops and prance on their hind legs. Loki passes me a handful of coins to give to a juggler who juggles more balls than I can count, plucking them out of the air faster than my eyes can perceive, and a fire eater who mesmerizes me for long minutes and eventually paints my name into the sky in large burning letters.

“I could do that.” Loki grumbles sullenly when I finally tear my eyes away. I grin up at him sensing that he’s jealous by my avid attentions for the other man, but not truly bothered because he’s secure in my love and affections for him.

“Yeah?” I tease. “But so can he. And he’s a non-magic citizen, not even a prince. You’re gonna have to step it up a bit to impress me.”

“Impress you, huh?” Loki stops walking to look down at me. “Does _this_ impress you?” Lightning quick he’s stepped up behind me and fastened a thin necklace around my throat.

“What? Oh… Loki…” I finger the charm hanging off the delicate golden chain. It is a single sparkling ruby surrounded by an intricately curled and curved design of gold with two tiny leaves sprouting out below the gem.

“Wow…” I look up at him my eyes veiled with happy tears. I press my hand against my chest holding the gorgeous gift against me. “It’s beautiful. Thank you!”

His face is unbearably soft as he looks down at me, then strokes his thumb down my cheek, his other hand laying itself over mine where it holds the necklace. “I know your favourite color is white but you said you liked red as well.”

“Mostly in your eyes.” I say softly so no one around us can hear.

“I bought it with the intent to remind you of me.” He says.

I smile happily; his thoughtfulness only makes this present all that much more meaningful. “The true you.”

“Yes. As I can only be with you.” He says, voice serious and infused with intense meaning. Then it lightens. “Besides I thought that green might be a touch too obvious.”

I laugh. “I love it!” I stretch up to kiss him not caring that we’re surrounded by dozens of people.

“I love _you!”_ he replies catching me up and fluidly dipping me backwards with consummate ease. I’m too stunned to do anything but hold on, pressed against him from hip to toe in a yielding curve, unable to ignore the power and strength of his lithe, hard body as he supports both my weight and his. The hand that’s not holding me up at my waist is cradling my head, bracing it as he kisses me slowly, lavishly, and deeply in a soul-wrenching melding of our mouths, full of a sweet heated spontaneity and passion that makes my heart ache in the best way possible.

Applause breaks out all around us. I feel his lips forming into a dirty grin against my own before he straightens abruptly leaving me breathless and slightly dizzy. “What was that?” I gasp out, steadying myself against his strong shoulder because after that my legs feel like jelly.

“A claim.” He states matter-of-factly, smirking winningly at the people around us some of whom are still clapping and smiling.

I flush at the attention but I can’t say I really mind it all that much. “All this for that one single fire guy? I’d say he’s been put in his place!”

Loki chuckles as he pulls me close by my waist. “For him. For you. For me. For everyone else. For the universe. Who cares?! You are mine and I am yours and now they all know it.”

“I’ll say they do!”

Loki’s soft laughter washes over me in waves of calm and pure undiluted joy.

“Beg pardon, your highness?”

We both turn and I feel my eyes widen at the sight of a single soldier, completely decked out in gold and silver armour, with a sword, a yellow cape, and a strange circular helmet atop his head, standing behind us.

I instinctively, it seems, Loki pulls me even closer and a bit behind him at the same time as he takes a tiny step forward positioning himself ever so slightly between me and the soldier.

“The King has requested audience with you. Will you please follow me.”

Odin? Loki and I throw a puzzled glance at each other than fall into step behind the soldier as he clanks his way up the street, parting the sea of people with ease.

We don’t get led to the throne room this time; instead the soldier ushers us into a medium sized room, though small by Asgardian standards, paneled in warm amber colored wood with a large circular table in the middle. The table is surrounded by a dozen straight backed, wooden chairs while the thirteenth is ornately carved out of gold. I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out who sits there. There’s large tapestries hanging on the wall, each one stitched to almost be overfull with horses and soldiers and monsters and weapons, all depicting some glorious battle with Odin undoubtedly emerging as the victor in each one

“What is this place?” I ask looking around half in interest, half in trepidation.

“The council chamber.”

“Asgard has a council?”

“We do. The King usually does not heed them though…”

“Why would he have called us here?”

Loki shrugs mulishly. “I have not a clue. My best guess would be that he somehow witnessed our little display down in the market place and wishes to reprimand us for it.”

“Not a fan of PDA, huh?” I ask, sidling up to him and folding my arms around his rigid form. He relaxes fractionally.

“I have no idea what that means.”

I laugh lightly. “No worries. I am a fan.”

The door opens just as I’m considering whether I should kiss him or not and risk being caught by Odin who apparently does not value public displays of affection. I jump away, or I try to. Loki catches me easily and pulls me back against him. Rebellious to the core where his dad is concerned. I almost roll my eyes.

Odin sweeps into the room, dressed quite casually compared to the last time I saw him. His golden eyepatch gleams. On his shoulder sits a large raven with glistening black feathers, a sharp beak, and beady, intelligently glittering eyes. My gaze immediately snags on the bird which spies me and takes to the air in a great rush of wings.

I gasp as it soars towards me, swooping down to settle on my shoulder. My entire body is tense at the feel of those sharp talons lightly pricking my shoulder. I don’t move to shake the bird off though I’m kinda scared it’s about to peck me in the face. Its warm feathery body is close, pressed right against my cheek.

I realize belatedly that both Odin and Loki are staring.

I blink confused not daring to make any sudden movements or even speak in case it annoys this magnificent, though vaguely frightening bird.

“I have never seen Hugin take to anyone like that!” Loki says to his father, all animosity apparently temporarily forgotten.

“Nor I.” the God of War rumbles, his single eye narrowing slightly.

The raven gives an ear-splitting caw that makes me jump.

“She is pure of thought and soul, I suppose.” Odin muses.

“Remarkable for a human, isnt it?” Loki says, disdain dripping like venom from his teeth.

Odin gives him a long look. “Please sit down.” He then says, instead of making a reply to Loki’s snark.

Loki, ever the gentleman, pulls out my chair though he’s still eyeing Odin with open hostility. I lower into the red velvet cushion carefully so as not to disturb the raven still perched on my shoulder. As soon as I’m sitting it hops off to land with a clatter of claws on the table. I reach out slowly and carefully to stroke my fingers over the smooth, glossy feathers.

Odin sits down to my great surprise not in the throne-like chair but on a regular one right beside Loki. He leans to the side to look around his son at me and his bird who is enjoying my petting if its closed eyes are anything to go by. “His name is Hugin.”

“Hugin…” I repeat softly, which makes the raven give a lazy, muffled squawk.

“His name means “thought”. He normally only willingly approaches those who are pure and clear of mind and soul in their acts and intentions.” Odin goes on to explain.

“So this was a test?” Loki breaks in before I can say anything. “You wanted to test the purity of Annie’s thoughts to insure that she was not in your realm for some nefarious reason.”

Odin’s grave attention shifts to Loki. “Can you truly blame me, my son?”

“Oh, I could blame you for a lot of things.”

“It is part of my duty as king to vet any person entering and living on my land.”

“Or you could have simply trusted my word. In this at least.”

“Loki…”

“Father.”

Odin pauses. As do I in my stroking of the raven’s plumage. I’m not entirely sure if Loki himself realizes that he just addressed Odin as his dad; something he hasn’t yet done to his face. I get the distinct impression that this has saved him yet another condescending reprimand. Odin clears his throat suspiciously deeply then switches his gaze back to me. “Clearly you have passed Hugin's inspection and as such I would like to officially welcome you to Asgard.”

I incline my head slightly, whispering, “Thank you.”

Loki rises. “Is that all? Are we dismissed?”

“Not yet, Loki. Sit back down.”

For a second I think he’s gonna refuse but then he falls back into the seat with a huff, crossing his arms in front of his chest like a petulant teenager, though I suspect it may actually be to form a shield of sorts between himself and his father. “What else?”

“I wanted to not only welcome your chosen mate to Asgard, but also welcome you back.”

Loki’s eyes widen.

“I believe you, Loki. We may have had our differences, we shall probably always continue to have them, but for now I desire naught but peace with you.”

“Peace…” Loki repeats. “Until the next time something I do displeases you enough to decide to execute me?”

Odin’s face remains impassive. My head swivels back and forth between the two opposing sides. I’m on Loki’s team, of course I am, but I do believe that Odin is sincerely trying to extend an olive branch here. Which doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have a lot left to atone for. But Loki for his part could be a teensy bit more receptive.

I kick him under the table. His facial expression does not change, nor does he show any signs or reactions that he even felt that.

The silent stare-off continues for another minute then Loki looks away. “Forgive me for not trusting your word, however under the circumstances I will at least for now accept it as law, for we wish to impose upon your hospitality a while longer. You shall be rid of us though soon enough.”

Odin’s face crumples for only a split second before he schools it back into impassivity. Loki, who’s not looking at his father doesn’t see it. “I do not want you to leave, Loki. This is your home. You and your guest are welcome to stay as long as you wish.”

I think Loki is about to make another sarcastic remark but he catches my eye. He sighs and turns back to Odin. “Thank you, father. We appreciate it.” His voice is toneless, his back rigid.

Odin puts one hand lightly his shoulder. I don’t know if he notices Loki’s slight flinch. “I am glad to have you returned, son.”

He makes no reply, simply nods.

Odin turns to me. “That is a beautiful necklace.”

I touch it automatically. “Thank you. Loki just gave it to me.”

“A ruby. An Asgardian symbol for love and passion. No other stone symbolizes strong feelings such as this one.” Odin says softly, his eye switching to Loki.

He grinds his jaw under his fathers scrutiny. “May we leave?”

Odin leans back. “Of course. Please inform me if there is anything you require to further the comfort of your stay here.”

Loki nods, taking my hand. I turn back to Odin. “Thank you, your majesty. Bye, Hugin.” The raven, who has fluttered back onto Odin’s arm, caws dolefully.

I follow Loki through the halls of the castle. He doesn’t walk as fast as he did after his last confrontation with his dad, but I still have to hurry to keep up with his longer strides.

Back in his rooms he relinquishes my hand and walks straight through to his bedroom and out onto his balcony. I follow him and wrap myself around him from behind, laying my cheek against his back. I don’t say anything, just hold him feeling his breathing slowly even out from fast, agitated huffs to deep, calm exhalations.

I reach up and massage his shoulders pressing my lips against his spine. “You okay?”

He says nothing, just keeps standing there like a great stone obelisk, hands braced against the railing.

“That was better than last time.” I murmur into the fabric of his shirt. “Wasn’t it?”

“Marginally.”

Oh. It speaks.

“You are angry with me.” He says matter-of-factly.

“What? No!”

His shoulders sag slightly in relief and my heart constricts at the fact that he was holding so much tension in them because of any perceived anger he felt I had for him; that he feels he probably deserves.

I wrap my arms around his waist, pressing myself tighter into his body. “You may have been borderline rude at times but compared to how vicious he was last time that’s perfectly excusable.”

“So why did you kick me?”

So he _did_ feel that! “I probably shouldn’t have done that. I just felt he was being sincere at least in that moment I didn’t think you thought so. I couldn’t think of a way to let you know, that he wouldn’t overhear. But I shouldn’t have kicked you. I’m sorry!” my voice trembles slightly with genuine emotion because I feel really bad in retrospect. I told him that he was justified in whatever mood he presented his father with and then I didn’t support him in that. What’s wrong with me?!

He turns around to look at me when he hears the tremor in my voice. I blink up at him, tears rising in my eyes. “I’m sorry…” I mouth again unable to raise volume.

He frowns. “Why are you crying, love?”

“Because I said that I’d support you in however you chose to act towards your dad. And then I didn’t…”

“Stop, darling. I am glad you reminded me of my attitude. I tend to lose all common sense when in front of my father. It is good that I have you to remind me to keep my emotions in check.”

“I don’t want you to keep them in check though. You need to let something out…”

“Not in front of him. He does not deserve to see these parts of me.”

I purse my lips. “Fair enough. I’m still sorry. You know I’m on your side, right?”

He pulls me against him. “There is not a single doubt in my mind, my love.”

“Good.”

We just stand hugging for a while. “Hey, Loki?”

“Hmm?”

“Have I thanked you yet for my necklace?”

His brows knit together in confusion. “You have.”

“I mean _properly?”_

His confusion amplifies for a second before realization and understanding dawns. A slow, wicked grin spreads over his face. “No, I do not believe you have.”

I do my best to hitch a seductive look onto my face, though I’m sure it probably just comes across as constipated. “Get naked; like now!”

He laughs. “Norns, love. You are insatiable!”

“You’d better believe it!” I tug at his shirt. “You’re still dressed.”

He sweeps me up in his arms laughing, then walks us over to his bed, magically ridding us of our clothes as he goes, but leaving my new necklace on. He dumps me on the mattress and falls over me with a low growl, then proceeds to very thoroughly blow my mind.

> <https://preadored.com/amp/garnet-black-hills-gold-pendant-necklace/?epik=dj0yJnU9YUlPcWRiUkp6dGlVaVJPWmtwc1MtY1hHMTVaTWFvTE4mbj1ESC1lLUp2WmQ1anQxam5nekwtSnVBJm09MyZ0PUFBQUFBRjFuQXhJ>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you click on the link that's how I imagine Annie's necklace to look, maybe a little bit more finely intricate.  
> But hey, it looks like Odin's starting to be a bit more accepting and it looks like everything is really starting to fall into place for our two lovers.  
> Life is about as perfect as it can get!
> 
> Wouldn't it be a bitch if something came along to fuck with that...


	49. Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for nightmares and panic.  
> This is like the shortest of short chapters so I'll probably wind up updating again later today cause I feel bad.

We go the sloth route for the rest of the day, staying in bed, making slow, lazy love, and talking about everything under the sun. Just as it starts to get dark and my stomach starts to growl, there’s a knock on the door. Loki rises and goes to answer, after dressing himself, of course.

It’s one of Frigga’s personal maids delivering a large picnic basket to us with instructions to enjoy dinner by ourselves and not feel obligated to join the silent family affair again. I can tell that Loki is relieved. I am too, slightly, though I know that it’s not gonna fix any of the damaged relationship between Loki and his father if we keep avoiding him. But still… we did already see him today and it was… not quite the natural disaster levels as it was last time!

We take the basket up to the top of the highest spire, right where Loki and Frigga looked at the stars. We eat as we always do when we’re alone, alternating bites and sitting close together. Afterwards we lie on out backs, our legs stretched out in opposite directions, temples touching, and watching for shooting stars. Loki recounts for me the same stories about the different stars and constellations that Frigga once told him. Even though the constellations are the same here as on Earth, their stories through Asgardian lore are different; not that I knew too much about them in the first place. I listen with interest, mostly just enjoying the low, soothing, melodious cadence of Loki’s voice.

We decide against going back down and choose to sleep up here instead, tangled together like two lovesick squids.

I wake up back there in that dark, ruined, burned to the ground city. The fear is back but this time it’s accompanied by a horrid sense of foreboding. I climb slowly to my feet intent upon looking around further to maybe figure out where the hell I am. There’s no illumination but I can still see, though dimly. I’m outside but there’s not a single star in the sky. I reach out to touch one of the charred, crumbling walls. My hand comes away blackened with soot. I look up at the sky and the softly swirling snow flakes. Slowly, horrifyingly, the realization dawns that it’s actually not snow; it’s ash! What is this place? Why am I here again? And why does it fill me with so much instinctive fear?

I look around, my heart pumping wildly, for any clues or signs as to where I might be. Is this supposed to be some kind of post apocalyptic Earth? I don’t understand?

For the first time I pick up a strange smell; burnt, acrid, and awful. Like singed flesh… There’s no sound; it’s creepily still, so to test whether my ears work as well as my nose, I pick up a fist sized rock and throw it lightly in between two of the collapsing buildings. It clatters and clunks loudly even though it immediately got swallowed up by the darkness.

In retrospect making a noise wasn’t my brightest idea ever because just then I see that figure again. Tall, hooded, terrifying. I crouch quickly down behind the crumbling wall, pressing my back to the rough stone and covering my mouth with my hands so my wheezing breaths don’t give me away.

I strain my ears but whoever it is makes no sound as they walk. Slowly heart beating wildly, palms moist with sweat, I rise up on my toes and peek out over the wall…

To stare right into the figure's withered face, blinded by a cloth tied over its eyes, behind a strange meshed helmet/face mask. Its mouth is open, teeth bared, red and bloodstained, as it reaches for me with a pale grey hand that has two thumbs.

I scream.

The scream gets stuck in my throat as my eyes shoot open. I’m shaking wildly, my hair plastered to my face with sweat. Another dream! What the hell?! Why do I keep having these? And why can I never tell that it’s a dream while I’m in it? How does it feel so real? What is that place? Does it actually exist? Is someone trying to tell me something? Is this a vision? I should tell Loki, maybe he’ll know something…

My head pounds again. And what is it with these headaches? Are they connected somehow to the dreams? Or is it just stress evoked by them?

Loki is wrapped around me like a vine, slumbering peacefully beside me, his face snowy pale in the silvery moonlight shining down on him, his hair black as ebony.

As much as I normally love being in his arms, right now he is hot, and heavy, and he is smothering me.

I need some air…

Carefully, so as not to disturb Snow White, I slip out of his embrace and pad on bare feet over to the edge of the roof. The cool night breeze that envelops me cools my overheated body and dries the sweat on my face. I sit down cross legged, about a meter from the edge, looking out over the slumbering city. It is beautiful even at night. For someone like me who’s used to the bright city lights of New York this is a departure. A few windows down below are illuminated by soft orange glows that indicate candles, and the odd gas street light burns in the streets. Other than that Asgard is cloaked in a friendly darkness, even the castle; which really allows the stars to shine and twinkle by the millions. The two moons are full as they always are here, and shine brightly, letting me see clearly even in what should otherwise be pitch blackness.

Slowly, as I sit there feeling the hair around my face and the loose linen dress around my shoulders fluttering in the gentle breeze, my headache and the tension in my muscles from the weird dream start to subside.

I close my eyes, lean back on my hands, and tip my head back into the rays of moonlight. My ears perk up, soaking in all the sounds of Asgard at rest. It’s mostly a beautiful peaceful silence, but every once in a while I can hear a dog bark, or a horse whinnying from the animal runs in the courtyard down below. I hear the creaking of a cart's wheels being rolled down the streets below, the rustle of the wind through the trees and bushes of the gardens, and the soft slosh of the great lake’s waves against the shore. All these tiny sounds are amplified by the otherwise complete silence.

Suddenly the world behind my closed lids goes dark. I frown. Has a cloud passed in front of the moons or something? There wasn’t a single one in the sky earlier.

My eyes open, then widen in shock. There is a shadow blocking the twin moons, but it’s not a cloud. It’s too big. It’s huge! Solid and dark.

In a blinding flash a giant search light comes on, emitting from right below me; from the guard post. The light illuminates the shadow to show that it is a ship floating in the sky. A ginormous spaceship with a double set of wings, one on top of the other on each side. The front face of it glows with eerie strips of red light which I think are windows.

Out of nowhere an alarm starts clanging. I jump violently covering my ears against the deafening sound, but can’t tear my eyes from the ship.

I sense movement behind me which tells me that Loki has been awoken and has come to join me at the edge of the roof. Just then the searchlight passes over the hull of the ship and I see its name written in large letters, jagged and uneven, almost like they’d been gouged deeply into the metal with a giant sword: _SANCTUARY II._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-Oh. What's happening?   
> I always feel so wonderfully evil when I leave off on a cliffhanger like this but I guess you're lucky because it's a short chapter so you dont have to wait until tomorrow. I'll update in a few hours after I walk my pupper and edit the next chapter.  
> But there's trouble ahead...


	50. Leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised a second chapter to make up for the short one.   
> Enjoy, I guess...

I’m sprinting through the corridor behind Loki who is dragging me along behind him his fingers closed in a vice like grip around my upper arm. Held like this I feel like an errant child being dragged to the principal’s office, but Loki ignores my token protests and when I dig in my heels to get him to slow down and explain this sudden panic that obviously pertains to the giant ship hovering in the sky, it predictably doesn’t slow him even in the slightest, and only works to almost make me trip and fall flat on my face.

He drags me through the castle and all the way to the throne room where Odin and Frigga already stand along with Thor, Heimdall, and a half a dozen other warriors. Lady Sif and the Warriors Three join the group just as we do.

“Loki,” Frigga calls out when we get close. “Son, what does this mean?”

Loki opens his mouth but Odin cuts across him speaking to the other four newcomers. “Are all defences in place?”

“Yes, sire.” Lady Sif says briskly. “The force field is at full power and we have warlocks on standby for reinforcements should they attempt to breach it.”

“All the land?” Thor chimes in. “Is all Asgard protected, Sif? Not just the castle? We cannot have them attacking the outer edges and harming our innocent citizens.”

“Yes, Thor. All is enclosed. The strongest armor is around the castle of course, but unless they have brought heavy artillery they shall not get through the weaker places in the shield either.”

“Have you seen that ship, Sif? They will have heavy artillery.” Volstagg rumbles from behind her.

“Head out and instruct that the force fields around the outlying farmlands be fortified.” Odin instructs one of the warriors. “Do they mean to attack, Heimdall?”

“I cannot see.” The golden warrior says. “They must be playing with the holes and limitations to my visions. They have many conflicting plans and none I can tell will be the path they choose to follow.”

“Then we must be prepared for anything.” Frigga says.

“ _Excuse me?!_ ” I call loudly, finally having enough air back in my lungs to make myself heard. Everyone’s attentions turn to me. “What the hell is going on?”

Their attentions shift to Loki, who takes what I think is a deep, calming breath before he turns to me, taking me lightly by the shoulders. “Thanos, love. That is his ship hovering above our heads.”

 _Thanos!!!_ I go freezing cold and sway slightly on my feet. Loki’s fingers tighten on my shoulders, steadying me. “He’s here for you…”

His jaw tightens. “Undoubtedly.”

Panic threatens to choke me. “No. No, Loki. We have to… he can’t… What are we gonna do? I can’t…” I’m spiralling rapidly into full on panic mode, my fingers curling into tight fists in Loki's shirt. His arms come around me, pulling me into his chest, whispering soothingly to me.

“Shh, love. Calm down. He will not get me.”

“You said that last time!” I cry, fear in every syllable and making me forget reason.

“We are on Asgard now where a constant magical barrier surrounds the castle and the city. They shall not pass through it unless we let them, no matter the might of their forces.”

“Let them?” I ask shrilly.

“It would appear as if we must fight them else they lay siege to us indefinitely. Even Asgard’s ample resources could not support that. But worry not, love, Asgardian warriors are much more capable and strong than even Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. This time we are not caught unawares as we were last time.”

I look up at him, still shaking and gulping. His face is his mask, though it is calm. When I meet his eyes he lets the mask down for a moment, allowing me to see his true feelings. He is worried and afraid, but it’s more of an instinctive fear he has of Thanos after years of being his torture project, than it is fear of being defeated and taken back again.

“And no one’s just gonna hand you over to get him off their backs?” I can’t restrain myself from asking shakily, throwing a quick glance at Odin who, after all, apparently had no qualms about having Loki executed without a fair trial.

For a second Odin looks affronted, then he nods sagely at my suspicion. The same suspicion seems to have amused Loki, if the mocking smile tilting up one corner of his lips is any indication.

“No one will hand you over, Loki. You and Annie will be protected.” Odin rumbles gruffly.

Relief floods me, but I’m still afraid. A battle means casualties. Loki could be killed even as they fight to save him.

Loki seems to be having the same thoughts about me. “I want you to leave Asgard until the matter is resolved.”

“ _What?_ ” I explode. “No. I’m not leaving you.”

“Listen to me… _Listen,_ love. I must keep you safe. Nothing else matters. I need to know that you are safe.”

“And I need to know that you’re safe! And I won’t know that if you send me away and you stay here to fight him. I won’t know… I’ll be… God knows where and you’ll be here, and you could be dying all while I’m off to nowhere and I won’t know anything. I can’t … you can’t make me go! You can’t!” My voice is infused with the pure panic this notion brings.

“Love, I will be safe. I will have all of Asgard’s best warriors around me. Thanos will not get to me. I promise.”

“Don’t. You can’t promise that… you can’t know for sure….”

Loki’s face looks like his heart is breaking as he sees my anguish. “You cannot stay. It is not for a mortal. You would be in far greater peril than I ever could be, simply by virtue of your fragile humanity.”

“Then come with me. We’ll go somewhere together and wait until it’s over. Please! Come with me.”

He shakes his head. “I cannot come with you, love. Don’t you see? It is me he wants, and if we go he will follow us until we are unprotected again. Better I stay here where I will be protected by the castle’s defences and you go somewhere else under protection, than to have us both out in the middle of nowhere with naught but my magic to shield us.”

He’s making sense. I hate that he’s making sense because I can’t do it. I can’t leave him. It feels like I’m leaving him to die! I shake my head wildly, tears streaming down my face.

Loki tirelessly wipes them away, then bends at the knees slightly to catch my gaze. “Do you think I want to send you away, love? Do you believe I want to be separated from you any less than you want to be separated from me? Nothing shatters my heart more, except the thought that I might lose you to this. I need you safe too much, my heart, my love, my life. You cannot stay!”

I want to scream at him that it’s not his choice but I can’t find my voice. So I keep shaking my head, the tears flowing faster as it becomes more and more apparent that this is going to become a reality. I look around desperately for anyone who might take my side, but they all stand there watching us gravely. No one says a word.

Loki takes my trembling chin between his fingers, turning me back to look at him. “Please.” He begs brokenly. _“Please,_ love. Please, go. Do not make me force you. I cannot have you here during this. Please, go. For me. For my peace of mind.”

I fall into his arms, crying stormily. Every fiber in my body screams at me not to agree to this, but I can’t, not in the presence of his desperate heartbroken look; not in the face of his pleading. “Okay.” I whisper.

I feel his entire body relax with the relief of knowing I’ll be safe, while at the same time feeling him tense at the fact that we’ll be apart soon. He doesn’t want this either. I know it. But it doesn’t make it any easier to bear. “Where will I go?”

“She could go to mother and father's lake shore home near the Great Caves.” Thor volunteers. “Unless they have contest?”

“Of course Annie may stay there.” Frigga says while Odin nods absently. “But we should enlist someone to escort her.”

“We will.” Lady Sif speaks up from behind us, indicating herself and the black haired warrior; I think his name is Hogun. He nods in stoic agreement.

I look at them surprised. They don’t even know me. Why would they volunteer like that? Loki also looks somewhat surprised by this announcement.

“Why, Sif?” he asks in a low voice, and I jerk slightly at his straightforwardness.

The woman steps forward, her jaw set, yellow eyes hard. “She is important to you, Loki. And we were once friends.”

I can tell from Loki’s face that he considers this a pretty lame reason but in the face of the current situation he refrains himself from making a scathing comeback. He simply nods. “When can you leave?”

“At a moment’s notice.”

What? Already? _No!_ I grab Loki’s sleeve. He looks down at me, his face wretched. “I need you out of here, love. They could attack at any second. You cannot be here when it starts.”

Fresh tears rise in my eyes. Loki clenches his teeth and wrenches his eyes away from my face as if the action costs him great effort. He turns to Sif and Hogun. “Pack your essentials. We shall meet you at the back gate in one hour.”

They nod and leave after saluting Odin and Frigga quickly with their fists against their chests.

I cling to Loki knowing that soon I’ll be apart from him. My entire being rebels at this.

  
An hour later I’m packed with a small carpet bag tied onto the back of Loki’s horse, who I’ll be riding. I’m too miserable by the prospect of my impending separation from Loki and the fact that I may never see him again because he might _die;_ might be killed while I’m spirited away somewhere in the hinterlands of Asgard, to worry about the fact that I’ve never ridden a horse by myself before.

Loki has not relinquished my hand in the entire time we were packing my bag and making preparations. I know this is as hard on him as it is on me but still I can’t help feeling resentful because I’m not the one forcing this separation on us.

He releases me for a short while when Frigga comes up to us and gives him a meaningful look. He backs away reluctantly, under the guise of checking that Gríma's saddle is properly positioned and tightened, leaving me alone with his mom.

Tears still run unchecked down my face as they’ve been doing for the past hour.

Frigga takes my hands in hers and draws me a few more steps away. “Do not be worried, dear. Loki is a very good warrior. He may not possess the physical strength of his brother, but his magical prowess allows him to stay one step ahead of his opponents at all times. He shall be fine.”

I just nod, wanting to believe her but still worried and afraid.

“I will insure no harm befalls him. I have waited too long to see my youngest son so happy to let that be taken from him by some second rate celestial commander in a rusted ship! In any case, I myself have a score to settle with the Titan for all he has put Loki through.”

Strangely Frigga’s fierce maternal protectiveness does calm me, though it makes me no less miserable.

“You worry about keeping yourself safe, Annie. It will not do to have something happen to you out there either. Take heed of Sif and Hogun. They shall keep you protected.”

I nod again.

She cups my face. “It will be over before you know it!”

Nod.

She draws me into a quick hug, then leads me back over to where Loki is speaking urgently to Sif and Hogun, who’ve just arrived with their horses. Without turning around he reaches for me and pulls me into his side.

“Do not allow her out of your sight for even a second. Are we understood?”

“Yes, Loki. Do not worry yourself. Annie will be safe with us.” Sif assures calmly.

“Aye.” Hogun concurs.

Loki gives them both a long look, then turns to me pulling me gently over to where Gríma stands waiting, a few paces away out of earshot of the others. He doesn’t say anything just cradles my face between his palms and leans down to press his forehead to mine. My hands come up automatically to hold onto his wrists. Our eyes squeeze shut.

We stand like this for long minutes, neither of us saying anything because words can’t express how we’re feeling in this moment.

Finally with a deep forceful inhale, Loki pulls away from me, lifting me easily and swinging me onto his horse’s back. He slips my feet into the stirrups, then winds my fingers into the reins. Then he stands there looking up at me, while I look down at him, my tears cascading down my face. Slow tears drip down his own cheeks as he stares at me with an intensity that needs no words. I can practically hear his thoughts projecting into my own brain through those deep green eyes. He loves me. He will do whatever it takes to protect me and keep me safe. He will never ever let me go. I am his life and he is mine.

I swallow hard past the lump in my throat and fumble for his hand, holding it in a bone crushing grip that he returns just as tightly and desperately. _I love you!_ I mouth to him

He raises our entwined hands and kisses my knuckles for the briefest of seconds. His fingers easily break my death grip on him, then he slaps the flat of his hand down on my horse’s hindquarters. Like a shot she takes of running, straight out the castle gate. I can hear Sif and Hogun galloping along behind me but all my focus is taken up by the struggle of staying on this horse. By the time I’m somewhat secure in the saddle we’re out of the castle gates and when I twist around, desperate for one last look at Loki, the gate has been shut and bolted securely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So clearly there's trouble in paradise. They're separated. Now what's gonna happen? Any guesses...?  
> Also, yes, I know I'm evil doing this to them and all of you.   
> Thanks for reading. Dont hate me!


	51. Hopeless?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR A LOT OF ANGST AND FEAR.  
> yea, so if you disliked me after that last chapter then you're really gonna hate me now... and you'll keep hating me for a few more chapters...  
> Eek.  
> Um... enjoy?

  
Eventually we slow our breakneck pace somewhat. I’m glad because at least this way I’m not constantly afraid I’m going to fly off my horse, but at the same time I wish we could keep going because the wind from our high speed riding is doing a good job of drying the constantly streaming tears on my face.

Sif looks at me with eyes full of pity but she doesn’t comment, only reaching out at regular intervals to squeeze my shoulder when I keep crying.

The hours pass slowly. Eventually Sif and Hogun start breaking the silence occasionally to give me riding tips or to explain some part of the plan and what it entails. I learn that the trip to this lake house, which is basically a small castle all of it’s own, will take us approximately three days. We’ll spend the night in various guest houses along our route. When the battle is over we will hear about it from one of Odin’s ravens. I don’t voice the thoughts on my mind that we might never hear from one of the ravens, because they might lose this battle. Neither Sif or Hogun seem at all concerned about this happening though. Or maybe they’re just hiding their worry from me.

I learn relatively quickly that Sif is the more open of the pair. She is tough and no-nonsense, but kind and patient with me. She is also very interested in anything I can tell her about Earth; Midgard as she calls it. Her questions distract me somewhat from my misery, and her interest keeps me from sinking too far back into the rabbit hole of not speaking, because I can feel that the words want to be heavy and bury themselves inside me once more in light of my fear and heartache.

Hogun is more the silent type, riding beside us, intently focused on his path and his goal. But whenever I peek at him and he catches my eye he gives me a stern, tight lipped smile and a little nod.

When darkness begins to fall we make it to a rustic cabin in the woods. If I wasn’t so wretched I’d think it absolutely charming. It’s a low bungalow type building half hewn directly out of the stone wall behind it, and surrounded by pine trees that press right up against its walls.

The owner is a portly guy who knows Sif and Hogun by name, falling all over himself to serve them, which makes me realize that they’re somewhat of celebrities around here.

For dinner we get served a thick, savory stew with thick chunks of potatoes. It's delicious but my appetite is somewhere down with my cheerful morale. When I see the owner's slightly hurt expression though I eat everything in my bowl.

Our room is small but cozy with a tiny, creaky bed. Sif and Hogun explain that they don’t need to sleep and will watch over me. This freaks me out a bit though I try to hide it. Sif's finely tuned senses pick up on my heightened nerves and she pulls me aside. After a bit of cajoling I confess that the idea of a guy in the room while I sleep makes me nervous, to which Sif tells me that she understands and goes to kick Hogun out, telling me that he’ll keep watch outside. I feel bad but the dark haired warrior assures me that it’s perfectly fine with one of his rare smiles.

My head is starting to ache again and so I get ready for bed, trying not to think about what Loki might be doing right now, whether the battle's started yet, or the fact that if it has he might even right now be stone cold dead!

Fear drives its claws deep into my heart. I do my best to push it down, telling myself that freaking out isn’t going to change anything or help anyone, least of all Loki.

But it’s really hard. I miss him so fiercely that it feels like a physical ache even worse than the one pounding in my head.

I curl up tight in the bed my arms folded around my head trying to drive out the knocking pain and wishing I had Loki’s magic touch here with me. And just Loki in general. I imagine his arms around me steady and strong, holding me tucked close against his chest, his slow, even breaths ruffling my hair. I try to imagine myself warm and safe in his embrace. But all I feel is cold. Cold and alone.

I cry myself to sleep.

My eyes open to darkness. The smell of charred meat is stronger than it was the last time and the place seems even darker. That same sense of pure terror is lighting my bones as I perceive, once again, the strange crumbled landscape around me with the slowly swirling ash falling from the sky. When I see the hooded figure with the bloodstained teeth and the extra thumbs in the distance I don’t even think. I start running. I run and run until my lungs are screaming and every breath feels like they’re getting shredded in my chest, but each time I turn around to throw a terrified glance over my shoulder he’s still behind me, though it doesn’t look like he’s sped up at all. Finally the inevitable happens; my foot gets caught on a protruding piece of rubble and I fall down hard.

“Finally you have ceased this senseless attempt at evading your fate.” A deep, nasally voice speaks in a slow, forced tone that sounds like a bad robotic GPS. The speaker places a heavy foot in the center of my back effectively keeping me down.

“Who are you?” I gasp out terrified. “What is this place? What do you want from me?”

“One question at a time, human. I am called the Other. I am Thanos' disciple off world. His second in command.”

Thanos! The name fills me with so much dread that I almost pee myself in fear.

“This place is a land that exists in your mind. It is the place where all of your anguish and your deepest fear lives. The easiest place for Thanos to access.”

“Access?” I squeak.

“Yes. We have been monitoring you, human.”

“How? What? Why?”

“So many questions. One at a time…”

I strain trying to get up, but his boot in my spine is too heavy. I’m trapped. Panic is lighting me up from the inside out making me short of breath. My ears ring with Loki’s screams and my hands shake violently.

“Once you entered Asgardian atmosphere it was easy. Asgard is liberally imbued with magic so opening up a channel between your mind and us was simple. As a mere human you had no natural defences and none were placed on you to prevent outside penetration. Your lover should have foreseen it but, alas, he did not. You can blame him for all of this.”

I swallow hard, trying to understand. So they’ve been in my mind before. The other nightmares were sent by them?

“We used the connection at first to establish where you were. Once we did so we set out towards Asgard on the most direct route. Meanwhile we kept open the connection to your mind so we could determine what Loki’s purpose in the visit was and to assure ourselves that he would not leave again before we arrived.”

“But why? What do you want with him?”

“Thanos has his reasons.” The Other rasps coldly.

“How did I not notice you people mucking around in my– hang on. The headaches!” The realization hits me with the force of Thor’s hammer. Of course! I so rarely get headaches. And I’ve been getting them everyday since we came to Asgard, multiple times a day. I curse myself. I should have said something. Maybe Loki could have figured this out.

“You are more intelligent than I would have given your small mind credit for, human.” The Other sounds vaguely surprised.

Gee, thanks, asshole! “But what do you want with me?” I ask tremulously the only question the Other hasn’t answered yet.

“With you. Nothing. You are merely bait; our key to Loki. You will deliver him to us on a silver platter.”

“Never!” I snarl with some miraculous fissure of strength. “I’ll never help you get him!”

“Oh, you will, human, because otherwise all of this–" He waves his hand slowly indicating the area around us. “–will become reality.”

His foot steps off my spine and I scramble up. Only to have my eyes fall on the dead and mangled body of my mother lying in front of me.

I scream.

My dad lies next to her, eyes open and glassy, limbs broken, throat slit.

I can’t look away and the more I look the more bodies I see. Everyone I love, everyone I care about: my parents, Melissa, Tony, Natasha, Steve, Bucky, Frigga, Loki; lying there twisted and bloody; unmistakably, horrifically dead.

“They will all die. All of them. In blood and pain. Unless you do what we tell you.” The Other speaks right in my ear from behind me. I try to shy away, but his hands grab my shoulders tightly, holding me in place.

“No…” I moan. My brain is in overdrive. I can’t let this happen. All these people… All these innocent people… I can’t let them die. But I can’t give up Loki either. I can’t deliver him to more torture. To death. I can’t! But all the others…

I sob. The Other keeps hold of me, forcing me to keep staring at the horror show in front of me. “What’s it to be, human?”

I can’t … I need time to think. I’m never gonna be able to think here, not with this staring me in the face. But there’s no time…

“Ok.” I whisper, every cell in my body withering in horror at what I’m agreeing to. “Ok. W-what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing much. We simply require you to get away from your friends. That is all.”

Oh, that's all, huh? I almost want to laugh hysterically but the desperate sound gets trapped somewhere near my diaphragm. It’s going to be impossible. Sif and Hogun are watching me so closely on Loki’s explicit orders that they’ll never let me out of their sight.

“Can you manage that?” the Other urges when I say nothing.

My head spins. I can’t … I can’t agree to this. I try to stall. “But then how am I supposed to bring Loki to you?”

“You will not bring him. He will come to us. Once you are dead do you not believe he won’t move heaven and earth to avenge you?! He will come all by himself and his rage and grief will make him an easy target.”

Terror lights up my mind even more than before. So that’s how it plays out. It’s true; this is a calculated cruelty. Loki will seek revenge for my death. And he will play right into their hands. But still… maybe there’s a way that I can save him; keep him safe; convince him not to come after Thanos, and save all of the other people I love at the same time.

I nod. “Ok…” I whisper brokenly, while my soul shrieks at me in agony.

“Wonderful.” The Other says, that word sounding utterly wrong spoken in his horrid monotone. “Then I will allow you to awaken now. However be warned: if you attempt to alert your friends in any way, we will know about it and everyone you see before you will die in truth. Including yourself, and Loki will still rush to avenge you. You will have accomplished nothing if you speak. You will have saved no one. Thanos is being merciful and allowing you the chance to spare those you care about even though a certain number of them have done their own to displease him. He is willing to overlook it if you comply.”

“How do I know that he won’t kill them anyway?”

“My master is of his word.”

It’s not a reassurance. But I suppose I don’t have any other choice. It’s either trust the Titan and hope that he keeps his word and doesn’t kill them all, or don’t trust him and have it guaranteed that he will kill them.

I sob quietly. “I won’t say anything.”

“Good. You are on a time table. Ensure that you are alone before you reach the king and Queen’s lake house.”

It’s still impossible. I have no idea how I’ll manage it. But I have no choice. “How will you know when I’m alone?” I ask tonelessly.

“We will know.” The other says simply.

Right. ‘Cause they’ll be watching. I squeeze my eyes closed and bury my face in my hands. What am I gonna do? It’s hopeless!

The hands on my shoulders lift. I look up. I’m back in the rickety, little bed in the forest inn. My head pounds. I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes trying to drive out the pain; trying to drive _him_ out.

“Annie?”

My head snaps up. Sif is sitting in a chair in the corner, watching over me. “Are you alright?”

I stare at her. The words; the truth, crowds onto my tongue. But I don’t let them past my lips. I’m practiced at that. I can’t tell her, though every bone in my body wants to. But my parents, Tony, Steve Bucky, all the others; their faces dead and pale and bloody flash into my mind. I can’t do it. I need to save them!

“I’m fine.” I say looking up and smiling. I know it's forced but Sif nods and sits back, probably attributing my strange attitude as more sadness and fear for Loki.

Even though my whole body screams at me to run, I lie back down turning my back to Sif, pulling the thin, ratty blanket over my head.

My thoughts spiral wildly. What do I do? What can I do? How do I get out of this. Hopelessness seizes me. There _is_ no way out of this. Either I doom myself and Loki, or I doom everyone I love, _including_ Loki. I have nothing to offer the Titan in my stead; nothing to bargain with; nothing to give or withhold that would influence him in any way. But I have to do something. I can’t just roll over and die…

I don’t go back to sleep. I lie still the whole night, staring blankly, at the wall not even seeing the peeling plaster, my head pounding while my brain whirs desperately trying to find a way; _any way,_ out of this.

I can’t find one. But I do formulate a plan. A plan that breaks my heart. Tears slide down my face into my hair forming a growing wet patch on the mattress beneath my cheek.

I’m never going to see Loki again. But I’m still going to save him! If it’s the last thing I do!

Which it will be…

I pretend to wake up early, which I can tell relieves Sif because it means we can hit the road again.

I ask for a pen and paper from the inn's owner. He gives me a large pile of pages of thick, soft, fibrous paper and a couple of pencils made from coal. Sif asks me what I want with those and I lie, telling her that I want to write down some of the things I see in my travels through Asgard, kind of like a diary. You know, a look-for-the-beauty-in-a-shitty-situation type of deal. I think she believes me.

And so I spend the day writing, while jolting in the saddle. I fill pages and pages but in the end it’s only a single one that matters. What’s written on that I’ve had to rewrite countless times because I needed to find the right words; the _exact_ words to tell Loki as concisely as possible just what he means to me. I think I did okay considering that the true extent of my feelings could have filled all these pages alone, plus several hundred more. I also had to find the right words that would convince him not to seek revenge for my death. I explained to him why I did what I did and that it wasn’t his fault. Then once I finally thought I’d found the right words I’d had to rewrite the letter two more times because I was crying too hard and my tears kept on smudging the coal making the words illegible. The finished letter still has some wet spots on it; it was inevitable, but it’s mostly readable considering that I also wrote it while bouncing up and down in the saddle on a horse in light trot.

On top of that I also wrote several pages with lackluster descriptions of things I saw, just in case Sif or Hogun thought to check on me, not that they’d have a reason to, I don’t think… But better to be prepared than to have this plan wind up shattering on a continuity error.

Not that I have a plan. I have no idea how in the world I’m ever gonna get away from them. I can’t even use the ‘I have to go to the bathroom’ excuse because Sif would just accompany me. They’ve taken Loki’s order to not let me out of their sight very, very literally.

I wonder what they think of my constant tears? Neither of them comments so they must think that they are still for my separation from Loki and my fear for his life. Which is true, in part. Except now I cry because this separation which was supposed to be temporary will be endlessly permanent. I cry because, unless my words do their job, Loki will be dead soon. And I cry because even though I’m doing this to keep them safe I’ll never see any of the other people who I love again, and I’d wasted so much time with them. My parents: I’d lost two whole years and only so recently made up with them. Melissa: I hadn’t even seen my best friend, or talked to her in over two years. Tony, Steve, Bucky, Natasha: I’d barely gotten to know them and had been too afraid of them for so long to want to, and to recognize how valuable and precious the friendship and protection they’d been trying to give me since the start really was.

I’m about to lose everything; throw it all away, all to keep them safe. And I don’t even know for sure if it’ll work, if my sacrifice will mean anything.

But really what’s heaviest on my mind is that I’ll never see Loki again. I’ll never get to hold him again, touch him again, listen to his smooth, calming voice again. Never again will I feel the sensation of his fingers on my face, in my hair, his lips on mine. I will never get to tell him I love him again, never again hear him say it in return.

I’ll never get to say goodbye…

Throughout the day my head keeps throbbing dully, telling me that I am under constant surveillance, but I don’t count the letter writing as a breach in our deal. I’m not writing to warn Loki about what I’m about to do; I’m writing to tell him why I had to do it. And the lack of lightning strikes smiting us tells me that it’s probably acceptable to the party on the other end of this cursed connection.

I hate the idea that they’re in my head. With every pounding beat in my skull I want to throw myself off the horse and slam my head repeatedly against the nearest tree or rock to drive them away. I want to scratch my brains out with my bare hands. But I don’t…

We stop for the night in another forest inn. It’s earlier than I thought we’d be stopping, but Sif says that this is the last semi comfortable place to spend a night, and that we should be arriving at the lake house tomorrow around late afternoon. I feel panic burning in my ribcage at how in hell I’m gonna manage to give my two watchdogs the slip before then.

In the end it’s a lot easier than I could have ever planned, if I’d planned it in the first place. When We arrive at the inn the owner is just setting up a large sign written in chalk that reads _TRY ERIKSON'S NEW OAK MATURED MEAD._

I catch the look both Sif and Hogun throw at the sign and a plan takes shape in my head. I force down the despair that tries to grip me. I don’t have time for that now!

Once we get shown to our room I look at Sif and give a huge yawn. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

“It is early?” she says and I think I hear disappointment in her voice, because she thinks that now she won't be able to have a barrel or two of mead since she’ll have to babysit me.

“I know,” I yawn again. “but I woke up so early. But hey, you and Hogun should have a drink. I saw you guys eyeing that sign outside.” I know it’s a risk pushing this specifically, but I tell myself that she had no reason to be suspicious. I mean, why would I be stupid enough to run off? She doesn’t know that I’ve been given a suicide mission.

She looks at me unsure, but I can tell she’s tempted. “Loki left clear instructions that we were not to leave your side.”

“During the day.” I say airily. “So I wouldn’t fall off my horse, or get lost in the forest. I’m gonna go to bed. I’m gonna sleep. Where would I even go other than to the bathroom?!”

She still looks unsure and her eyes are narrowing suspiciously. I feel the panic overtake me that she might figure me out, but try my best to keep my questionable poker face firmly in place.

Sif opens her mouth.

Hogun chooses that exact moment to stick his head in through the door. “Is everything alright?” he ask in that low, gravelly voice of his.

“Annie says we should have a drink. She is tired and wishes to go to bed.”

“Our job is to watch her at all times, Sif.” Hogun says sternly.

The panic rises.

“She will not go anywhere, Hogun. She will be safe in this room. No one is after _her.”_

If only you knew, Sif. But I nod and shrug behind her back, underscoring her words.

Hogun looks at me intently. “Are you certain you will be alright?”

“Yes, it’s fine. Go. Go ahead. Enjoy yourselves for a little bit. I’ll be fine!” I say, trying to paste a cheery smile on my face. I give another huge yawn for effect then throw a longing glance towards the bed. Sif and Hogun look at each other.

“One pint of ale. We should not be longer than ten minutes.” Sif says.

I nod again encouragingly. “See? I’ll probably be asleep by the time you get back.”

Hogun still looks unsure.

“I could verily use a drink, Hogun,” Sif pleads. “We shall be back before we know it.”

I stand there, waiting on tenterhooks, trying not to fidget and look suspicious. I yawn one more time for good measure.

Finally Hogun nods. Relief washes through me, as well as dread. Pure terror grips my brain. I shove it down; imagine sealing it into a box along with my shredding heart.

They leave. I force myself to be methodical and not think. I shove couple of extra pillows and blankets I find in the closet, underneath the duvet into a vaguely Annie sized and shaped lump. I know they’ll discover it faster than I probably want them to but maybe it’ll buy me a few extra minutes. I take the letter for Loki and carefully fold it and place it under the pillow. At the last second, because my guilt is eating me up alive, I scribble a hasty note of apology to Sif and Hogun, thanking them for watching out for me, telling them that it’s not their fault, and adding a plea to please give Loki my letter. I try not to picture their reaction when they notice I’m missing. Then I try and fail not to picture Loki’s reaction when they inevitably tell him and give him my letter.

Sorrow crushes my insides like a vice, twisting my stomach viciously.

I run into the bathroom and am profusely sick in the bathtub. When I’m done I wipe my mouth and stand up. I need to get a grip or they’ll be back; I already lost precious minutes. I leave the mess in the tub and climb out the bathroom window just in case, so I don’t run right into their arms in the hallway if they happen to be coming back down at that very moment.

I sneak around the low slung brick building, throwing a quick, sneaky glance into the dusty window of the pub. Sif and Hogun sit at the bar laughing and toasting each other with giant flagons. I force myself to sneak past and not take this last opportunity I have, will ever have, to save myself.

I run into the forest, not slowing until the shadow of the trees has swallowed me up.

It was only dusk out on the road but here amid the dense trees it’s pitch black. I keep walking, tripping over protruding roots and rocks. I have no idea where I’m going or how far I have to go. Finally when I think I’m out of Asgardian earshot of the inn and my terror is threatening to swallow me up alive and send me flying back to safety, I stop in a little clearing.

“ALRIGHT YOU SON OF A BITCH. I’M HERE. I DID WHAT YOU ASKED. COME AND GET ME!!!” I shout into the night even as pure fear grips my brain and turns my knees to jelly.

I manage to stay upright though, even as I watch in slow motion as the heavens open and a beam of dark red light comes shooting down at me, potent and deadly, poised to snuff out my insignificant, little life.

I watch as it makes its way closer and closer, my brain kicking into overdrive slowing time down. Staring down my imminent rushing death makes Loki’s face burst into my brain with sudden clarity. I see it in all its sparkling, beautiful detail. His eyes glowing and green, his thin lips curved into that teasing smirk, his hair curling around his chin, all his beloved features more familiar to me than my own. And for the first time I hear his voice in my head, not screaming, but telling me that he loves me, that I am his and he is mine. That everything will be alright…

The red light bathes my body and the forest floor around me, turning everything crimson, and lighting me and the world on fire.

Red takes over everything.

I scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh.  
> I would like to urge everyone who is currently making plans to come to my house and threaten me with knives to reread the tags on this story specifically the one that says HAPPY ENDING. yea. But I never specified how that came about or how terribly long it would take and how very mean I would be to our lovies in the meantime. So I guess you are justified in coming to my house and threatening me with knives...  
> I debated posting this later in the day so you wouldn't have to wait so long for the next chapter tomorrow morning. But I decided to be heartless and let you all stew in the suspense for a while.   
> I loves you!!! Please don't murder me in my sleep! 😚💕


	52. Prisoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for pain, torture, abuse, fear. Not good things. Heavy chapter. Evil author!  
> But we also answer an important question in this chapter, one which has gone unanswered for a long time now...  
> I feel so hesitant about writing "enjoy" because well...  
> Read and curse my name. Is that more fitting for these last few chapters?

“Welcome back, little one.”

My head is buzzing. I shake it to try and clear it but all that does is start a persistent throbbing in my temples. Something feels very wrong, very displaced. I want to open my eyes to try to make sense of what is happening but it’s like my lids are glued shut.

“Go on now; you can do it. Open your eyes for me.”

That voice. I know that voice. It vibrates in the marrow of my bones and makes my heart flutter with some unknown terror. I try to remember but my head seems to be splitting right along my hairline, making it impossible for me to think.

With a herculean effort I manage to wrench my eyelids apart, only to immediately slam them shut again as bright lights stab me right in the eyeballs.

“There you are; almost there. Come on, one more time.”

That familiar voice is back, speaking softly, urging me onwards. There’s no anger in it, or malicious intent that I can hear, and still my heart is slamming in my ribs and a cold sweat breaks out all over my body.

I force my eyes open again, blinking rapidly against the lights until it stops hurting. When it does I look around me and am… confused.

Everything is upside down? What? What is happening here? Am I in some weird alternate reality? Am I tripping balls? Why am I standing on the ceiling?

Slowly it becomes clear to me that I am not, in fact, standing on the ceiling. I am hanging from it. Upside down by tight restraints around my ankles that bite cruelly into my skin. My arms are pulled straight to the side and secured as well so it seems like I’m on some inverted invisible crucifix.

My head clears with almost painful suddenness, and I remember exactly what happened. I’m supposed to be dead! I thought I was going into that forest so he could kill me. But, unless I’m in hell I’m very much alive. Which means that I’m…

I gasp and twist around as best as I can while restrained in this way. And then off to my left I see him. Somehow even larger and more purple than I had remembered him. The Mad Titan. Thanos!

“There she is.” He says in a slow, satisfied voice. He walks around in front of me, each step from his huge, booted feet shaking the ground. He crouches down before me though that really doesn’t do much to diminish his gigantic size. I cringe away as best as I can while hanging upside down.

“Don’t be afraid, little one. I’m not here to hurt you. Yet.”

Is that supposed to calm me? What the fuck? I shake my head at him wildly.

He inclines his great, purple noggin to one side. “They tell me you speak now. Why do you not?”

I bite my lower lip hard. I don’t want to talk to him. But I need to, I realize, if only to ensure that he recognizes that I’ve fulfilled my part of the deal I struck with his second on his behalf. “I’m here.” I want to spit the words at him but my voice trembles and shakes abysmally.

“Yes, you are.” He nods.

“So now you stop threatening my friends!”

He smiles slowly. “How very demanding.”

“We had a deal!”

“Yes, we did. And I intend to honor it. To a point. Though now that you are here there are a few more things I need from you.”

“What things?” Everything inside of me constricts with dread.

“Oh, just this and that.” He smiles. “You will find out soon enough.”

“No. Tell me! I did all of this shit; I betrayed my friends, I’m never going to see the… him again, just to keep everyone safe from you. You tell me what the fuck else you want from me! Now, you purple bastard.”

I actually expect him to be furious after that little tirade of mine, that came from who knows where, but he just chuckles deeply. “I admire your bravery, little one. It is so rare in your kind.”

“Miss me with that shit!” I snarl. “I’m not here to listen to you pontificate about the superiority of your ginormous alien ass. Tell me why _my_ ass is here!”

“Tell me, little one; did you expect to die in that Asgardian wood?”

I swallow hard. Yes. Yes, I did. And I really don’t know whether I should be glad to be alive right now or not. My money’s on _not_ since I’m currently strung up from the ceiling by my ankles. Despite my best intentions I nod once.

“But why should I kill you when you can be of so much use to me?”

“What use?” My voice is shaking again.

He reaches for my face and I shy away but he easily captures me, holding my head between his thumb and forefinger. The pads of his fingers are each more than half the size of my face!

He smiles. “You have spent the better part of six months in the company of Loki. Loki possesses knowledge that I require. I cannot get to him easily and so I went for what I could easily get. You.”

“What knowledge? I don’t know anything!”

“I need to know of the location of the remaining four Infinity Stones.”

“And you’re asking me?!” I laugh, even though there is nothing remotely funny here. “I don’t know anything about that. I don’t even know what Infinity Stones are!”

He heaves a dramatic sigh. “The Infinity Stones are six gems of immense power, tied to different aspects of the universe, created by the Cosmic—"

“I don’t mean to interrupt, Professor, but I really don’t care!” I say loudly over his deep, droning monotone. “That wasn’t an invitation for a lecture!” My insides are shriveling up in fear and yet, it’s as if I can’t physically stop myself from sassing him. This isn’t like me. Not anymore. This is how I used to be. But now… What’s going on?

He frowns and his face hardens. It looks like I’ve finally pissed him off. Shit! The strange idiotic confidence and reckless sarcastic attitude that has possessed me since I woke up, evaporates in an instant.

He stands up to tower over me even more. His size is increased by the illusion of me looking at him basically from the floor up.

“Please, I told you, I don’t know anything about any Infinity Stones. Loki never told me anything about them.” I squeak.

“Nevertheless there are things he may have mentioned to you in passing that might hint to their whereabouts, or point me to certain speculated locations.”

I shake my head. “There’s not. I swear!”

He looks down at me, his roughly hewn, boulder like features softening into pity. “You may simply not recall. But the things buried deep in your subconscious might be of great use to me.”

“But… if they’re in my subconscious how are you supposed to get to them?” I swear if he says hypnosis..!

He smiles again, though this smile is no longer benign; it is cold and calculating. “This ingenious machine you are secured to allows me to access and view all of your memories, no matter how old or deeply buried they may be. I could make you remember the very moment of your birth when you were but a blood smeared, squalling babe, I could force you to recall your worst memories along with details you never even knew you noticed.”

I shudder convulsively. No. No. Nonono. Not that! Anything but that! I’ve been forced to relive my worst memory every day and night for the past two years. And now when it has only started to subside somewhat and I’ve been actually moving past it, he wants to dredge it all up again and force me to relive it again and this time in HD surround-sound?! No! _No!_

I’m shaking my head rapidly, tears dripping from my eyes and running down my forehead into my hair. “Please, no. Don’t do that. Please. There’s nothing for you to see. I promise. Loki n-never even mentioned Infinity Stones…”

“Aah, but you see, young one, that is the beauty of this machine. Even if the Stones were only mentioned to you in passing it will be able to dig deep into your mind and retrieve the information for me.”

“E-even so, there’s nothing useful. There’s not! I know it!” I’m stuttering, helpless in my fear that once he finds out about _that_ night he’ll use it to torture me over and over until I’m back there again, in a permanent state of panic, even worse off than I was before!

“You are probably right.” He sighs. “But I must be sure. And in any case we must do something to occupy your time until your dear love arrives to rescue you, mustn’t we?”

“W-what?”

“You see, little one, that is the second part of my plan. I was unable to get to Loki, but as you know I was able to get to you through his neglectful, careless oversight. And now that you are here you know as well as I do that he will be rushing in to save you as speedily as he can. Especially if I give him some motivation.”

“M-motivation?” I ask trembling. My insides are mush; liquefied by fear. I have a horrid suspicion that I know exactly what kind of motivation he’s talking about. He’s right, of course. Once he realizes I’ve been taken Loki’s first and only path will lead him directly here; to me; to his death. No matter what my letter begged him for, he’ll never heed it if he knows or even slightly believes me to still be alive. Revenge be damned because this wouldn’t be revenge. It would be rescue. But actually it would be suicide. But I also know that if there’s anything that will make Loki hurry even faster it’s seeing me in pain.

“How soon do you anticipate his arrival here if he knows you are being hurt?” Thanos asks, echoing my thoughts.

“You don’t need to do that…” I beg, hating myself for it. “He… he'll come anyway.”

“Oh, I know, but I wouldn’t want my young guest to become bored while enjoying my hospitality.”

I shake my head some more, my tears flowing faster and faster. He can’t. He can’t do this. No, please. Please, please, please. I was supposed to die. I was supposed to be dead; not tortured. Sheer panic takes over, boiling my brain.

“Your words were very moving, by the way. Touching. And your earnest effort in attempting to keep him safe from me was almost sweet. But it would never have worked…” the Titan muses, and I feel ill at the thought that he’s read what I thought would be my last words to Loki.

“That was private!” I seethe.

“I know.” My anger doesn’t seem to faze him. He throws a glance towards the door almost as if he’s waiting for something. Or someone. Not Loki. It can't be Loki yet. Can it?

“How would you even let him know?” I ask trying to stall. “He’ll think I’m dead once he gets my letter.”

“So you truly believe that he will honor your request to not hunt me down?”

“You don’t know him like I do!” I spit though I’m not at all certain in my pretended conviction.

“But I have known him longer. No matter, even if he believes you dead once I show him the evidence of your life and your pain he will abandon all and come for me with all Asgard’s army in tow. And we will obliterate them and take him.”

“But how will you show him? Satellite? Carrier pigeons? E-mail?”

“I have other technology, one that will allow a link between your mind and his and will allow him to see and hear you. So make sure you scream very loudly and give him a good performance.”

No. No way! I won’t! I can do this! I can hide my pain from whatever he does to me. Loki did it for me the last time we were captured by this Neanderthal motherfucker. I can do it now for him. To spare him at least something… I know he’ll already be completely destroyed by the knowledge that I was taken; that I _let_ myself be taken.

Suddenly another figure steps out of the shadows. It’s smaller than the Titan, but then I’m sure that most living things are; bipeds at least. It wears a dark cloak with the hood drawn up that hides it completely from view. In the first moments I am reminded obscenely of a Dementor. When it draws a great rattling breath my belief that there is a planet somewhere where Harry Potter exists and that J. K. Rowling was just an alien missionary, solidifies.

“This is Stygian Manus.” The Titan introduces the Dementor, who drops to one knee before him, one sleeve cloaked hand pressing to the place where you’d expect to find a heart. “He will be overseeing the procedures.”

So he’s my torture master. I shiver violently as he draws in another of those breaths that sound like he’s inhaling a lungful of buzzing blowflies.

“I shall leave you to your work. Contact me if you uncover anything useful. Remember she is human and therefore much more fragile than your usual subjects. I am counting on you not to kill her accidentally.”

“Yesssss, Massster.” The Dementor hisses in a nasally voice that slices through me like a scalpel.

“Remember, young one, give your lover a good show. The more you allow him to see you suffering, the sooner he will get here to alleviate that suffering from you.”

“Fuck you!” I spit! Not the most graceful and elegant of one liners; not the most creative, but it’s all I can muster at the moment. I am so afraid that terrified seems like too trivial a word for it. I’m practically convulsing in my bonds.

The Titan chuckles deeply then walks away, out of my eye line though his heavy footfalls continue to vibrate the ground long after I lose sight of him.

My attention immediately focuses on the Dementor. He’s looking right at me. At least I think he is; it’s hard too tell with that hood obscuring his face. He moves closer. The obscure idea that he’s gonna kiss me and suck out my soul through my mouth lodges itself in my chest. It really doesn’t seem so unbelievable given that I’m on a space ship with aliens out to conquer the universe by any means; fair or foul.

“Shhhhhall we begin?” he asks.

I shake my head wildly.

He makes a strange rasping noise in the back of his throat and it takes me a minute to figure out that he’s laughing. “Ssssso how far back shhhhhhould I sssssstart looking?”

“There’s nothing to find. Please, don’t…”

He hacks another laugh, then moves off to the side. I hear him fiddling around with something, then a low humming starts.

“Let ussssss begin at the lowessssst sssssetting.”

I shake my head as the buzzing grows louder, seeming to vibrate right inside my skull. That persistent headache intensified.

Then suddenly it’s as if someone’s slammed an icepick right into my brain through my left temple. A scream falls past my lips without my conscious permission. I clamp my lips shut around it.

The icepick burrows deeper. I screw my eyes shut tight, my face contorting, every muscle locking up, fists clenched. My body writhes and twists as much as it can in the restraints. My back arches. My lungs burn from trying to hold in the screams. But I need to hold them in. I must not let them out. For Loki. He can’t know how much this hurts. If he did… if he did it would destroy him. Like seeing him in pain destroyed me that time. I can’t let that happen. I can’t!

More icepicks dipped in acid join the first, pounding into me from my forehead, the base of my skull, my other temple. I can’t… I can’t… No. Don’t scream. Oh, god. Agony! This is agony unparalleled. I can’t do this...

That’s when the pictures start. They burst into existence behind my closed eyes as if they’re being projected right through my lids onto my retinas. They do nothing to lessen the pain. There’s me, age six: riding on my dad’s shoulders on a hiking trip when I was too tired to walk. Age seven: at the pet store with my mom, picking out our first kitten, Fish. We’d told my dad we’d only buy a guppy or two but then we couldn’t resist the tiny little black kitten with the three white paws and the spot around it’s right eye that looked like a monocle. We’d giggled the entire way home about our decision to name this cat Fish just so we could tell my dad that we had successfully adopted fish! Age eight: Jacob teaching me how to play poker even though my parents told him not to. We played for gummy bears. He won every game but afterwards he still split his winnings fifty-fifty with me even though I lost. Seeing my brother’s face in such clarity after so long does something inexpressible to me. The pain increases exponentially but this pain is different; it comes from inside me.

Jacob. My brother. Who betrayed me in the worst way possible. I loved him. I still love him. And he loved me. Didn’t he? How could he do what he did if he loved me? His face, even 9 years younger stabs into my chest like a rusty knife. And it catches my tormentor's attention.

“There’sssssss sssssomething!” I hear his voice inside my head as clearly as if he were speaking directly into my ear. “Who'ssssss thissssss then?”

No, I want to yell. No, leave it alone. If he goes looking for more memories of Jacob he’ll inevitably discover the ones I’m trying to keep hidden, the ones I can’t relieve. I can’t. If I do I won't be able to stop myself from screaming. It’s hard enough as it is.

My head feels as if it’s on fire.

“Manus.” The voice is loud and it explodes through my ears into my agonized brain like a bomb’s detonation.

But then the pain lessens. It fades in increments until I once again become aware of things outside of my inflamed head. I realize several things at once: I’m still crying, though now the tears are more like a waterfall pouring into my hair, my fists are clenched and blood seeps out between the fingers of both hands, and more blood is filling my mouth. My tongue feels fuzzy; I must have bitten it.

“Recall what I said about not overestimating what her humanity can take.”

The Titan is back and he’s reprimanding the Dementor. How much time has passed? It felt like hours. Days!

“Sssssshe isss ssssurprisingly durable, Masssster. Sssshe did not onccce sssscream, ssssave for when I firsssst sssstarted.”

A moment of silence while the Titan seems to mull this over. “Impressive.” He intones right before I feel the floor shuddering under his footsteps as he comes nearer. Again he crouches in front of me. “So you are of a higher caliber than I initially thought, it seems.”

I can only whimper softly, trying not to gag at the coppery taste of blood in my mouth.

“Perhaps Loki did something to make you that way, hm?”

I shake my head wildly.

“Or perhaps it was those Asgardian quacksalvers who altered your biological makeup to make you tougher; more like an Asgardian, less like a weak mortal?!”

“N-no,” I gasp, blood trickling out of my mouth and over my cheeks up toward my nose. “No, they didn’t. No one did.”

The Titan shrugs. “We shall find out!”

“No. Please, don’t! Please. You don’t have to hurt me anymore. Why won’t you believe me? I’m telling you the truth!” More blood trickles into my nose clogging it even more. I shake my head, and snort desperately trying in vain to clear it.

“The truth is circumstantial, child. Your truth is different from another’s; as is mine.”

I only sob softly. Thanos leans closer. “If it is any consolation to you, young one, Loki has received my message and he is on his way with fury in his heart. I daresay he shall be here in a day’s time.”

No. Loki! No. Stay away. Please, stay away!

“In fact I discovered something interesting…”

He’s trying to bait me and I bite because I’m hoping that if I do I can stall and put off the renewal of my torture. “W-what?”

“A link already existed between you, emanating from this ship, dating back to over two years ago.”

I freeze, my various agonies momentarily forgotten. He can't mean… Can he?

“I see this news means something to you. Unfortunately I cannot tell how extensive the connection is. All I know is that at the time the technology was still experimental. I had not planned to use it on Loki since there was no one who loved him enough to attempt to come save him, so I needn’t have wasted my time on establishing a connection. But something must have malfunctioned and a connection sparked between the two of you. Why you specifically, I can not explain. However I wonder if you were even aware. Tell me, little one, have you perhaps seen flashes of Loki’s face for years before you met him? Perhaps you heard him?”

My brain is exploding and not from the residual pain. Is this it? Is this the answer as to why I’ve been able to hear Loki inside my head for years, and he's been able to hear me too? But why? Why me? Like the Titan said, what’s so special about me? And all of a sudden I realize that I haven't heard Loki screaming in my head at all since I woke up. I should have, based on previous patterns; I’m panicked enough! But there’s only silence. Even that persistent humming that used to be always present and then eventually faded unless is specifically focused on it is gone. I cant hear him anymore. What does that mean? Does it mean hes dead? Terror seizes me before rational thought catches up. He can’t be dead. Thanos said he was coming here. To save me. Which means he’ll be dead soon…

A sharp pain blooms across my face as it feels as if my eyeball is about to pop out of my skull. I cry out in shock and pain then blink rapidly determining that the Titan has just slapped me across the face.

“I need your focus on me, mortal.” He says coldly. “Though I thank you for the lapse in attention. This should give Loki even more fuel for his anger seeing me manhandle you like this. I should continue though I do not like to do so without reason…”

I find my tongue, beyond pissed, beyond terrified, beyond reason. “What do you still want with him anyway?”

“He betrayed me. He must pay.”

“But you already tortured him. And before; before he attacked Earth, you tortured him then too. It’s enough! Why isn’t that enough for you?”

He laughs and leans down until he’s right in my face. “You think what he went through was pain? No, littlest one, I have discovered since I saw the two of you last that there is far greater pain than torture. As you said I have subjected Loki to much of the same over the years; physical pain bad enough to make him feel as if I were flaying him alive, tearing the very skin off his body in strips, burning the flesh off his bones. And he screamed. Oh, but did he scream. He asked for death many a time. But he did not break, nor did he beg for mercy. I could not subjugate him to willingly follow me. No, I had to force his mind to bend. And he still tricked me. But I have found that there is far greater pain I can subject him to, with which to break him, make him beg. Pain with which I have already made him begin to beg. The pain of losing you; of seeing you die in front of him, watching as I snuff out that insignificant life of yours right before his eyes. That will break him as nothing else could.”

Tears burn hotly in my eyes at this utter cruelty of both his plans and his descriptions of how hes already tortured Loki. “N-no… Why?” I whisper, despairing completely.

“It is a game now, young one. He escaped me once and denied me the rightful rule of Midgard. He believed he won the game when he allowed himself to be imprisoned and hidden from me. But I found him. And he escaped again. It is but entertainment for me to watch the two of you dance on the strings I've tied. It is no more than a contest to me, and I shall be the only one who can win in the end. I am inevitable!”

“You’re a sick fuck!” I whisper, voice clogged with despair.

His smile becomes brittle and derisive. “You should take heed of how you speak to me–” He starts on another monologuing tirade but doesn’t get further because, in an act of absolute bravery or insanity, I spit a glob of blood and saliva right into his smug, purple face.

How’s _that_ for a game, asshole!

The Titan freezes, then very slowly reaches up and wipes the tiny spray of scarlet off his cheeks. He looks down at his besmirched finger for a very long time, then smiles. “Such foolishness. Such bravery. And from one barely out of the womb.” He pauses, tilting his huge, ugly head to one side, looking at me quizzically, probably considering whether to kill me or not. “You have my respect for it. And as a show of this I will not kill you for your act of insolence. And when I do eventually kill you I give you my word I shall make it quick for you. You will feel nothing, I promise you.”

“Words are dust, and promises even less than that. A thin thread; easily broken!” I snarl, repeating words that Loki once said to me.

I see one of the Titan's nonexistent eyebrows rise. I think that quote may have impressed him.

“You’ll never break Loki. He’s too strong for you. He’s a god! You’re only a sorry, little wanna-be!” I spit, even though there’s nothing even remotely little about him.

He rises, his giant face hard. If my first quote impressed him then that last one angered him. A lot! I quail but do my best not to let him see it.

“Manus?”

“Yesssss, Massster?” The dementor slithers back into view.

“Recommence.”

“At onccccce, Massssster.”

“And this time take it up a notch.”

“Withhhh the utmossst pleassssure, Massssster.”

I try to steel myself for the agony I know is coming. The only warning I get is a little tingle, then the pain comes. It blooms in my head and even after just one second I can tell that it’s far worse than it was before. My head whips side to side as I try to compartmentalize the agony. Somehow, subconsciously, I’m aware that I’m moving my tongue to the back of my mouth right before my teeth clench against the torturous sensations; self preservation so I don’t bite clean through it this time. I keep the screams locked tight inside my clamped shut mouth, but long, high pitched whines and groans escape anyways.

The movies begin in my head again. This time they skip right over my childhood and delve with frightening precision right into my time with Loki. I’m forced to re-watch everything. I see myself meeting him for the first time, how I jumped and ran away. How I stumbled back to his cell that second time after being accosted by Agent Brenner, delirious with panic. I watch the first time I was able to touch him, hold him, kiss him. I watch as we make love, as we fight, reconcile. I watch the solace and love we give each other through the nightmares, the flashbacks, the healing. It should comfort me, these images in this time of pure torture. But just knowing that someone else is seeing all that I’m seeing; is rifling through these private memories, leafing through them careless of how much each and every one meant to me; to us… it tinges it. It makes the relieving of it a special, singular kind of torture of it’s very own.

It goes on forever. Finally when I feel like I can no longer hold out, when it seems impossible to keep the screams in, seems impossible to keep clinging to life, it all stops.

My head is still ringing. Everything hurts. The light stabs my eyes like someone’s inserted two toothpicks into my eyeballs. My stomach twists then heaves, then forcibly expels its meager contents. I am powerless to stop it, hanging like a limp noodle in my restraints, feeling my own vomit coursing down my face, clogging my nose, running into my hair, and dripping into my eyes. It disgusts me and prolongs the ordeal by making me heave more and more. Tears and snot pour in equal measure down my face, mixing sickeningly with the puke.

“Disssssgusssting!” The Dementor hisses dismissively.

“Mortal!” Thanos says with a shrug, as if that explains everything. “Give her a hose down. Then let her rest. If we dig anymore today it would kill her.”

“Assss you wishhhhhh, Masssster.” The Dementor basically grovels as the Titan moves past me. Each footstep of his detonates a grenade of agony in my head. The door slamming behind him is a nuclear blast.

I can hear the Dementor moving, shuffling around in front of me, but I can’t open my eyes. I suspect they’re gummed closed with barf, but also because I just can’t find the strength to.

I wait for water to hit me, likely cold because why give a prisoner the comfort of warm water? But what I feel washing over me is decidedly not water. I wrench my eyes open blinking the ick out of them to see the Dementor crouching in front of me. His rattling breath blows over my face making me gag anew. It smells like something crawled under his tongue and died there. I strain to catch a glimpse of his face beneath the hood but all I can see is empty, hollow darkness. Then I scream as one of his arms rises, headed for my face. No! Don't let this repulsive creature touch me.

He shakes back his sleeve revealing a hand that is slimy, gray and dead looking, like the flesh is half decomposed and rotted on the bones. I strain away even though I have nowhere to go, not wanting this thing on me. He swipes a hand through the mess of blood, tears, and puke on my face making a convulsive shudder move through me. He then lifts his besmirched finger to the face under the hood and seems to inhale deeply. 

"Repulssssssive." He hisses. "Dirty human!"

His hand extends again reaching for me once more. I turn my face away as best as I can but he's not aiming for it this time. Instead I feel a tugging around my neck and when I look I see that he's holding the charm from my necklace between his slimy fingers. 

"Thissssss lookssssss valuable!" He says.

"Don't touch that!" I spit angrily.

He rattles another laugh and then gives a sharp yank that breaks the delicate chain. He rises and slips the only thing I still have of Loki into his pocket on the right side of his cloak.

"No!" I cry desperately. "Give it back. Give that back, you ugly, vile piece of—"

I'm cut short by a jet of ice cold water hitting me right in the face. I splutter and gasp, trying to evade the stream but tied the way I am it's impossible. I don’t even feel it. It’s strong, like a power washer, so it should hurt, but it barely feels like it tickles after that ordeal from just now.

When the vomit, blood, and grime is rinsed from me sufficiently the Dementor shuts off the hose and leaves. The bang of the door falling shut behind him reverberates in a thousand stabbing pains through my entire body.

I mourn the loss of my treasured necklace.

I can feel my consciousness ebbing but I want to stay awake. I need to stay awake. What if Loki comes while I’m passed out? What if they kill him, and I never get to see him again. Because now I want to. Before I’d resigned myself to never seeing him again, back in the forests of Asgard. But now… now that I know he’s coming, know that it’s inevitable that he come for me; now all I want with every fiber of my being, is to see him just one last time. To tell him goodbye. To tell him I love him. And that I don’t regret it. I don’t regret a single moment of it, of my time with him, even though it lead to my death. I was dead anyway until he brought me back to life. And the months I got to spend being alive with him were worth more than all the years before I met him and all the years I’d still have had if I never did.

Blackness squiggles into my vision. No. Stay awake. Must stay awake… Stay… Stay awake… No… Stay… Loki…

Darkness swallows me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's why they're connected and can hear eachother. But why each other specifically? I guess we only answered half of the riddle. But the other half will be answered too in good time.  
> Now please pardon me, I need to be pretentious for a sec and explain where the name stygian manus came from cause I'm damn proud of it. I wanted a name that sounded badass and slightly over the top enough to fit in with the rest of thanos' crew. I mean Ebony Maw? Proxima Midnight? Wow. So my original thought was Dark Claw but that sounds like some substandard villain from Jimmy Neutron or something. So I tossed the words Dark and Claw into my thesaurus and got these synonyms respectively: STYGIAN: "relating to the styx river. Very dark" and MANUS: "the terminal segment of a forelimbs corresponding to the hand and wrist in humans." And so he was born. And the dementor aspect just seemed to fit and maybe it was also lazy character development on my part to take a template for a creature that another author had already made so incredibly well. Thanks Joanne!  
> Anyhoo, that's that assbutt explained.  
> And I hope you dont hate me even more after this chapter. You'll probably keep hating me for the next one and a half though.  
> But me love you aaaaaalllllll!!!!  
> Thanks for reading.


	53. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS for grief and some mentions of torture and abuse and thoughts of self harm.  
> So another chapter you'll hate me for. Hopefully you'll stop hating me by tomorrow.  
> Maybe dont enjoy but... prosper. How's that?

She is gone. She is gone.

My shaking hand clutches the paper in my fist, the letter, her last words to me delivered by Sif and Hogun who looked haggard and wretched when they arrived back early in the morning having ridden flat out all night.

I had exploded. I had raged, stormed, shouted, screamed myself hoarse… but it had not done any good. It had not brought her back. All the anger in the world will not bring her back to me.

She is gone!

Fresh tears pour down my face as I drop my head into my hands and cry. The letter drifts to the ground at my feet. I lunge for it, picking it up lest it be blown away by the wind and I lose this last piece of her soul, the only part of her I have left now. I press it against my chest, howling my lament to the open skies. I have read it so often now that I can recite it word for word.

_My dearest Loki_

  
_I love you. I love you so much that I couldn’t ever even put it into words adequately. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and what I’m about to say to you is ripping my heart to pieces._

  
_I know you’re gonna have a hard time understanding what’s happened, why I would ever do this. But he threatened my family. He threatened to kill everyone I loved if I didn’t give myself up. He's been watching me since day one through some sort of magical connection so he’d know if I told. He said I had to hand myself over so he could get to you. I had to do it. I couldn’t let him kill my parents and my friends… I’m so sorry._

  
_Loki, please. I’ve never asked anything of you and it’s too late now to really start, but please don’t go after him. Please. Please don’t. It’s what he wants. It’s why he's doing this. He’s using me to get to you. Please don’t go after him to get revenge for me. It’s all I can ask you for now. Please, Loki, please live. Please stay alive. For me. Please. I couldn’t handle it if I knew you were just going to go after him and die no matter what I did. Please, you have to stay alive. For me! I’m doing this to save you and everyone I love, of which you are the one I love most of all!_

  
_I know it may not work, I know he may not even keep his word but I have to try. I am so, so sorry._

  
_Don’t be angry with Sif and Hogun. It’ll be a miracle if I get away from them. Tell them thank you from me, especially Sif._

  
_You are the love of my life, Loki. You gave my life meaning when I had none, when I had nothing. Everything you’ve brought to me was good. I am so lucky that I got to spend this time with you and I don’t regret a single second! You are the best thing that ever happened to me!_

  
_I love you so, so, so much!!!!!!!!_

  
_Forgive me._

  
_Love eternally,_

  
_Annie_

The paper is crinkled and smudged where her own tears had dripped onto it. Mine have mingled with them only ruining the paper more.

It gutted me.

It guts me, these last words from her, written in that handwriting that was once more familiar to me than her voice; and in an intimately complicated way still is. I cannot bear it; she is gone. My heart; the heart I did not believe I had until she showed me it, has crumpled into ashes. I want to be angry; I wish for the rage to return, but it evades me. Instead there is only emptiness and desolation and a grief so deep seated it threatens to tear me apart bodily.

I fall to my knees, my back bowing under its force.

She is gone. My little love is gone. Never again will I hold her soft body in my arms. Never again will I hear her sweet laugh and her husky voice. Never again will her fingers touch my skin, always so carefully as if it were I who was the fragile one out of the two of us. Never again will I inhale the pure, clean scent of her like cool rain on a hot, hot day, or run my fingers through her hair like spun gold, or have her calm me and make me feel as none other ever could that I belong, am whole, am _good._ Never again. Because she is gone.

I want to be angry with her. How could she leave me like this? But I am unable to because I understand. She is so selfless, so innocent, always putting other’s needs above her own, and Thanos has taken advantage of this to manipulate her. And it is my fault. I have only myself to blame.

I should have taken precautions when I brought her to Asgard, a land in which magic ebbs and flows like a tide, where it is woven into the branches of the trees and the stalks of the flowers; infused into the rivers; where it verily shimmers in the air and sings in the wind itself. Yet I did not. It was an oversight on my part; I was simply too excited to have her here with me, and too overwhelmed with the myriad of feelings that came from seeing my family again. And so I left her vulnerable and open for attack. I practically served her up to Thanos on a silver platter.

My fingers twist in my own hair, pulling it savagely, as a guttural, animalistic scream filled with the purest agony rips itself from my throat, tearing to shreds my vocal cords.

She is _gone!_

Her last words echo in my brain. _Please don’t go after him. Please don’t. It’s what he wants. Please, Loki, live. Stay alive. For me._

 _How?_ I want to shout, want to scream to the world, the heavens, her ghost. How am I supposed to stay alive without you? You _are_ my life! How can I keep living without it; without you?

I want to scream. I want to rage. I want to find the Titan and smash his great, purple skull in; pummel his ugly face until there is nothing left of it. But she has asked me not to. She is right; she has never asked me for anything before and now she asks for this; the one thing I fear I cannot give her. But how could I not honor her last wish? How _can_ I? And now she will never ask anything of me again.

Because she is gone!

My body wracks with shivers. I feel as if I must have long since run out of tears but more keep coming. Annie… Annie, my love. _Why?_ Why did you leave me? What will I do without you?

I can feel it slipping, my control. That tightly wound coil inside me that only she has ever been able to undo, but that I held on so much tighter to so it would not ricochet and hurt her. It is breaking loop by loop. Because without her what is the point of keeping it in check? I want to tear into my flesh with a knife as I once did back when I was locked in the belly of the earth in that squalid cell on Midgard where my life began when she fell into it. Back then I made the wounds to prove my control. Now I want to make them to disprove it; to show all that I renounce it, do not need it, do not want it. Who cares if I become a monster for all to see? Who cares if I show them once and for all that I truly am what they always feared and expected I would become? Because the only one who truly ever fully believed in me; knew I was better; _more_ despite what all evidence told her and never doubted me for even a moment,is GONE!!!

Everything I’ve buried inside me for so long at the behest of my parents, to keep me from becoming the monster I was born as, is threatening to spill out of me, purging my body of all there is within it and leaving me the empty shell I know I shall be once the raging part of my grief settles. The explosion of all this may well level Asgard. I do not care. I want it to. I want the whole world, the entire universe to burn, because a universe where my little love does not exist is not a universe that, in itself, deserves to exist!

_She is gone!_

I cannot handle it. The pain cleaves me in two as I bite into my fist, curling into a ball on the floor, clutching her letter, her last missive, her final message proclaiming her endless love for me against my chest, against the empty, ragged hole where once there was a heart that she made beat.

I have nothing. Nothing left.

...she is gone...

...gone...

...gone... 

...

A soft touch on my tear soaked face draws me marginally out of the my mire of my agony. My mother kneels in front of me, stroking back the wild hair that is plastered to my cheeks. Her own face is wet.

She says nothing, knows that no words will have the power to console me. She simply opens her arms and I crawl into them like I have not done since I was a small boy. Her arms close around me strong, so strong; strong enough to hold up the world, but not strong enough to endure under my cataclysmic, devastating grief as evidences by their slight trembling. But she does her best, enclosing me tightly in their safe circle, and rocks me gently while my tears soak into her dress and hers drip onto my shoulders.

Thor finds us. I do not even have the strength or the will to hide my crying from him, as I once was accustomed to doing, knowing that he would mock me for it and call me weak. It no longer matters. Nothing matters. I _am_ weak, and nothing mocks me more than the prospect of a life; of an existence without Annie in it.

She is gone.

He says something to mother, who makes some reply but my agonized brain cannot make my ears focus on their words. I feel my brother’s fingers squeeze my shoulder, then he leaves.

My mother continues to rock me in her arms.

I continue to cry.

My father does not come to see me.

She is gone…

  
Night has fallen. The first of a million endless ones still to come without her in it. I sit on the roof of the castle’s tallest spire, still clutching Annie’s letter in my hand. My face is dry; I have no tears left. I feel numb, though the grief is by no means dulled; still roaring through my veins, weighing me down.

Gone… she is gone.

I sit on the roof where barely three days ago I had fallen asleep with her so peacefully, a peace that was shattered by the appearance of the _Sanctuary II_ in he sky. I wait now, praying grimly for the ship to reappear again, see me, and take me. There is nothing I want more. I have come to the conclusion that the only way to honor her last will is to not actively seek out the Titan but to let him find me. And when he finds me I will kill him. I will skin him alive with my dagger, make him suffer every piece of how I suffer now, for every moment my love had to live in fear and despair in the knowledge that she was walking towards her death. I will kill him!

Against my will my mind travels back to last night. We had been in full battle preparation in the council room when a shadow had suddenly lifted from the city. The ship had gone. I had suspected that something must be terribly wrong for it to simply disappear so suddenly, but no one listened to me as per usual. They had said it was a good thing; perhaps Thanos had found a worthier cause to pursue and I was off the hook. It would do well to be cautious in case this was a trick, but would it not be splendid if we had not to fight at all?!

I had let myself get caught up in their cautious optimism wanting to believe the Titan gone and my little love safe and soon to be returned to me. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of the two lonely riders galloping through the castle gates in the early hours of the morning.

I had realized they had been missing the third, and my heart had stopped. Minutes later it had shattered upon confronting Sif and Hogun. Norns I had wanted to tear them to pieces. But it would not have brought her back. Nothing will bring her back.

Because she. Is. _Gone!!!_

My teeth clench savagely and I wish the tears would return. I feel like an imposter in my grief being unable to cry for her.

I can no longer hear her. Before I had been able to summon her sweet voice at will into my head to listen to her singing that song as I had first heard it all those years ago. But it appears as if with her death that strange, inexplicable connection that existed between us, that once saved us both, has been broken. Extinguished. Just like the candle light of her beautiful life. And it leaves me even emptier than before.

It hits me again with the force of a thousand cast iron anvils, that with the loss of this truly all that remains to me of her is her written word. I will never see her again, never touch her again, never hear her again.

She is gone.

Norns, I hope she did not suffer.

When the first image flashes into my brain I assume it to be my mind tormenting me with imaginings of Thanos torturing Annie. But then more come in quick succession flashing into my mind, accompanied by a brief though piercing scream from her, repeated on a loop as a backtrack for the pictures.

She is suspended upside down in a room I know all too well having once been taken there daily for five years of non-stop torture. Photon lights bore into her temples and her face is a mask of utter agony though her lips are tightly clamped together. Her little body shakes and shudders and jerks violently as her brain is zapped with electricity over and over and over again. He is hurting her. He is torturing her.

I see his large, meaty hand slap her across her little face. She is so small beside him, tiny in her pain. He hit her!

White hot rage flares through me eclipsing my sight, igniting my bones, boiling my blood, and wiping all rational thought from my brain. He is hurting her; my little love, who is so strong and yet so fragile in her mortality. How long could she possibly last under this onslaught and physical siege of pain? I bury my face in my hands despairing for her.

Then the full impact of what this means smacks me upside the head a second later and I surge to my feet, stumbling and almost plummeting off the roof, to take off running towards my brother’s rooms.

She is alive!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shmanks for reading and for not making little red haired voodoo dolls of me and stabbing pins into them. At least I dont think anyone's done this; I havent felt anything. Maybe y'all just need to brush up on your hoodoo...  
> Anyhoo(doo) (see what I did there?!) sorry for the shorter chapter. Tomorrow will be longer. And like I said hold off on the witchcraft until tomorrow. If then you're still mad go ahead and curse my name.  
> Thanks for readin', witchies!🧙🏼🧙🏽


	54. Rescued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for torture, abuse, panic attacks, mentions of rape, and fear.  
> Heavy chapter but I hope you'll like me again marginally after it...

When I wake up it takes a long time for my muddled, hurt brain to fully comprehend what has happened and where I am. When I do, it comes all at once, making me feel like throwing up again.

I take internal assessment of my body and what I find is worrying to say the least. I feel weak; weaker than a newborn kitten. I cannot even clench my fists, and moving my head side to side seems take as much effort as lifting a 300 pound barbell. My eyesight is fuzzy, my mouth dry. I think I’m hungry but I can’t really tell. Every muscle in my body aches and seizes randomly. My head is still splitting. Each breath I take is an effort, and my lungs feel tight. I cough and my body spasms wildly and uncontrollably.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

I shriek at the sound of that dreaded voice, echoing through the room, the deep timbre of it thudding sickeningly inside my throbbing brain. My upchuck urge heightens as pure animalistic terror floods me, freezing my blood.

“N-no, pl-please. L-leave me alone.”

The Titan heaves himself out of his throne and comes over to me. He’s holding something, but because of the huge expanse of his palm I can’t tell what it is. He drops to one knee in front of me and strokes one large finger over my cheek. The tender gesture makes my stomach flip, as everything inside me shudders violently. “There, there little one. I’m not here to hurt you right now.”

This does nothing to calm my rising nausea. My lips fall open as I pant and shake my head wildly. My breathing is shallow and I think I’m hyperventilating. My chest tightens painfully and the room begins to spin around me. I see double of the purple fucker’s face, which does not help calm me because if there’s anything worse than one of him, it’s _two_ of him.

“I brought you this.” He announces before he sticks a straw into my gaping mouth. My body acts on instinct taking in the liquid, drinking greedily, while I’m still freaking out. Closing my eyes helps minimally.

The straw is removed way to soon.

“Here,” I peel my eyes open to see him still kneeling I front of me, holding a blurry spoon full of some type of soggy brown stew out to me. Belatedly I smell the concoction and it makes my stomach toss.

I press my lips together and turn my face away as best as I can.

“Don’t be stubborn. You need your strength.”

“Why?” I snarl, albeit in a wobbly voice. “So you can keep torturing me?!”

“Not torturing, young one; information gathering.”

“Well it feels a lot like torture!”

“It cannot be helped. I regret it deeply. Now eat. You will feel better.”

I open my mouth to make some other scathing, stupid remark but he forces the spoon between my lips instead. I pull away and spit the entire thing out at his feet, some globs of stew and spit flecking his boots.

His jaw tightens as he rises. “Very well, if you refuse my hospitality and kindness then it is certainly not my responsibility to waste further of my ship’s resources on your piteous form. We will resume where we left of yesterday.”

My body convulses. I want to take it back, beg him for forgiveness, say I’ll eat, do whatever he wants if he’ll only stop hurting me. But I can’t get my mouth to work as panic overwhelms me once more. And I also know that even if I do manage to placate him and convince him to “waste his ship’s resources" on me, I will only put off the inevitable for a few more minutes. Because he’ll still keep torturing me once he's done feeding me. So maybe this way the torture will be over sooner…

The Dementor approaches. I can hear his rattling breath and the way his cloak slithers over the ground. Everything inside me squeezes tightly in terror.

“Where would you like me to begin today, masssster?” he hisses.

“Begin with the response you noted during your first session yesterday. I want to know what caused such a visceral reaction. Perhaps the information will be of further use to us, though I doubt it. In any case it matters little what condition she is in when Loki arrives. Just make sure she is alive. As for the state of her mind, I do not care.”

“Ccccccertainly, masssster.”

The Titan leaves. “No.” I shout, my control breaking. “No, no, come back. Don’t do this, please, please. No!”

But the door slams anyway. I turn to the Dementor. “Please, please don’t. I can’t… I can’t take it. You’ll kill me. You don’t want that, do you? Your… your master will be displeased. Please… no…”

“Foolishhhhh mortal. I know no ssssympathhhhy for your kind.” He snarls as he slithers his way over to the controls.

I keep babbling inanely right up to the point that I hear the buzzing of the machine that precedes the pain.

It blooms behind my eyelids, spreading outwards in a slow motion explosion. It’s about a hundred times worse than it was before, or maybe it just seems that way since my brain still feels raw. I can’t keep the screams in anymore. This is a calculated torture, feeling like knives digging into my brain and twisting. I scream and scream. My body shakes uncontrollably.

Then the pictures start. Jacob’s face bursts into focus in front of me; above me. Behind him the sky darkens into night while the Ferris Wheel spins. I can see everything. It’s like my vision has crystalized where before it was grainy and muddy and like I was looking through a dirty, fogged up window. There’s a tiny cluster of just developing zits on Jacob’s temple. I see a spot on his chin where he nicked himself shaving, and one where he missed a patch, the bristly facial hair dusting his cheek. I can see the sweat beading on his brow and notice what I didn’t notice before in the dark; his pupils are huge, blown. Big. Too big. He _is_ high!

The others break out of the woods. I live it all over again, now noticing things I didn’t notice before, or all the times after that I dreamed about it. I notice the eyes of one, strangely beautiful; blue, flecked with gold surrounded by long, dark lashes. Another has a tiny scar through his eyebrow. One has a tattoo of a snarling boar on his skull, mostly hidden beneath the growing dark brown bristly hair. All of my senses are amplified, so I can smell that another one reeks of the chilly cheese fries he’d just eaten. And worst of all, I can hear the people passing by torturously close between the trees. But they can’t see what’s happening and don’t go to investigate because all they hear is booming music and what sounds like teenagers having fun. And I don’t scream, though if I had I might have been saved!

It’s like the Titan said, everything is a hundred times clearer and therefore about a million times more terrible. It’s physical torture combined with mental torture and it is killing me.

I lose track of how many times I’m forced to watch and re-watch and re-experience the worst night of my life. All the while agony fills every nook and cranny of my head. My brain feels like it’s being boiled in acid.

Finally it stops. Slowly the pain fades, leaving only the dull throbbing behind. My brain fires information to me in disjointed fits and spurts. I’m crying. I’m bleeding. I’m drooling. I’ve wet myself.

The Dementor leaves. I stay hanging in my bonds, shuddering wildly. My body is wracked with shivers while at the same time I’m sweating profusely. My chest is tight and panic is drowning my brain. Even though the pictures have stopped being ripped forcefully from my brain, they’re still there.

I don’t know how much time passes. I stay hanging from the ceiling immersed in flashbacks, consumed by panic, screaming for help. My sanity and common sense seem to have fled entirely.

When the door opens again my screams turn piercing. No. Nonono. I can’t do it again. No more. No more.

The Dementor approaches. He fiddles with the controls and my body tenses waiting for renewed agony. It doesn’t come. Instead a low mechanical hum fills the room and then I’m falling. I crash gracelessly to the floor, landing in a crumpled heap. What fresh hell is this?

I hear a low oath, then hands land on me. I scream and twist, rolling away from the contact.

“Shh, love. Love, it’s me. It’s _me!”_

I freeze. “Loki?” I slur.

“Yes. Yes, I’m here. I’m here, my love. Oh, I’m sorry. I am so sorry. Come. Come on. We must get you out of here.” He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me easily to my feet. Everything is bleary, and I can’t quite believe that he’s here.

Wait a minute. _Is_ he here? What if this is a trick? I mean, Thanos hasn’t tricked me like this before but maybe it’s the new plan because another bout of torture would kill me. So now he’s moved on to more psychological tortures…

I dig in my heels. It doesn’t do anything. Loki (or is it?) is too strong. I smack at him as hard as I can, which isn’t all that hard. But it does the job and stops him in his tracks. He looks at me. I glower back at him as much as I can. I need to squint; the bright lights hurting my splitting head and teary, red, inflamed eyes. My legs shake and I feel I may collapse. I keep myself upright through a sheer force of will that I had no idea I even possessed.

“What is it? We need to get you out of here, love.”

I shake my head wildly. “I don’t think you are who you say you are!” I gasp out.

Loki’s eyes widen, then become impossibly sad. “What can I do?”

“Tell me something only the real Loki would know.” I back away from him, leaning my back against the wall to prop myself up and keep from collapsing into a puddle.

His face turns soft. He bends his head slightly so his eyes meet my lowered ones directly, and begins to speak in the most tenderest of voices as if I'm a frightened animal about to spook. Which I am... “Your name is Annie Michelle Ellis. Your favorite band is the Beatles. You love the ocean no matter what time of year. You love to draw even though you do not think you are good at it, and you appreciate art. You can recite the entire periodic table forward, backwards and in either direction from the center. You love apples and bananas, but hate peaches and plums. You love the smell of fire in the winter. You like watching the milk swirl and disperse when you pour it into your coffee or tea. You can never remember the order in which the original _Star Wars_ movies were released. You adore the smell of cinnamon but hate the taste. You cannot stomach spinach. You do not believe in your strength yet it is evident to anyone around you. You believed in me when no one else did, or even tried to. You… Norns… you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Love…” his voice breaks. “Love, it is me…”

I swallow hard as I stare at him; at his sincere face that I can barely see from below the black hood of the Dementor's cloak. With the last little vestiges of strength I posses I shove off the wall and fall against him. He catches me, holding me upright even as he squeezes me tightly, burying his face in my hair.

A distant vain little part of me tells me that I am currently disgusting. I probably reek of sweat, and vomit, and pee, and God knows what else, but everything else inside me doesn’t care.

“What are you doing here?” I sob against his shoulder. “How did you get here?”

“Shh, I shall tell you everything later. For now we must get you to safety. Come. Can you walk?”

I nod weakly. “I’ll manage.”

“Good. Keep your head down. If anyone sees us they will think I am Stygian Manus. You are a prisoner and I am taking you to Thanos' throne room. Act weakened.”

That’s not too difficult. I feel like I’m about to collapse. But I can rally enough strength to get out of here. I have to. Both of our lives depend on it!

Loki grabs my upper arm in a tight grip. At first I strain away when I see that his hand is just as slimy, rotted, repulsing, and dead as the Dementor's. Doubt seeds itself through my muddled and hurt head again, but then Loki shows me in a glimmer of green that the parched flesh is only and illusion. His pale, strong, long fingered hand is just beneath it. Slightly placated I sag against him, letting him drag me, though in reality he’s actually holding me up, and supporting me, though to anyone else it would look as if he were impatiently pulling me along behind him.

He leads and I stumble blindly after him. Then a voice from behind us sends terror zapping through me.

“Stygian?”

Loki turns, maneuvering me slightly behind him. I sway tiredly trying to look pathetic and out of it. The monster from my first encounter with the Titan is floating down the hall toward us.

“Where are you taking the prisoner, Stygian?”

“Thhhhanossss hasssss requesssssted the prisssssoner be brought to him, Maw.” Loki rasps in a perfect imitation of the Dementor’s hissing voice.

I shiver violently at the sound.

“He did not tell me of this request.” Ebony Maw says, his pitch black snake eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Dread pulses through me. If he doesn’t believe Loki’s lie, or insists on accompanying us then we’re toast.

“Not everythhhhhing mussssst be run passssst you, Maw. Thhhhhanossss hassssss other trusssssted ssssubordinatesssss.”

Ebony Maw bristles, affronted. “I am his second in command on this ship!”

“Perhapssssss, but for how much longer?!”

“Is that a threat, Manus?”

“Ssssimply an obssssssservation. I have heard whissssspersssss.”

“From whom?”

“Anyone withhhhhh a tongue.”

“You would do well not to believe in idle rumors and gossip, Stygian.” Ebony Maw snarls then turns on his heel and flounces off down the hallway.

I collapse against Loki in relief, peeking up into his face underneath the hood. A small satisfied smile twists his thin lipped mouth. “He was always too arrogant for his own good. Come on.”

He leads me down a few more corridors, though I notice little else of my surroundings. My mind has checked out; my body is running on autopilot and fumes.

Only when a loud buzzing sound cuts through my head with a jolt of pain do I return to the moment. “Get in.” Loki whispers, shoving me gently inside a circular opening of a strange sphere shaped pod. I crawl inside, curling up against the far side of it to make room for Loki, as he squeezes his tall frame into the tiny space with me. Unlike me he cannot sit upright, needing to hunch over as he curves himself along the concave wall. One of his arms stays extended out the hole holding the door’s latch open. He motions me towards him with his other hand, then scoops me up and tucks me against his chest, one tightly furled up leg on either side of me.

“Close your eyes.” He instructs.

When I do, he closes the latch. Immediately the little pod starts to vibrate violently.

“What’s happening?” I ask shrilly, my eyes flying open.

“Shh, eyes closed.” Loki repeats, wrapping his arms around me so they cross over my chest like a seat belt, grabbing on to his own biceps. His thighs cinch tight on either side of my hips, anchoring me into the already cramped space. “It’s alright. This is supposed to happen.”

“Where are we?” I whisper, voice shaking, eyes still squeezed tightly closed, my hands gripping on to Loki’s forearms in a death grip.

“Garbage pod. The safest way off this cursed vessel. Here we go. Hang on tight!”

A low screeching rumble sounds, hurting my head and making me cry out with the pain. Then we shoot forward at what feels like the speed of light. The little spherical pod tumbles wildly all around propelled by the force of its takeoff as it gets blasted into empty space and hit by the _Sanctuary II'_ s tailwinds. All the while I’m locked in an iron cage of protection by Loki’s arms, barely getting jostled within the pod. I still feel every roll, pitch, and yaw of the thing as we go rollercoaster-ing through space, but at least I’m not getting tossed around like a marble in a bag.

Finally the wild motions even out until everything stops revolving around us. Or maybe we stop revolving through everything…

Loki’s hold on me relaxes though he doesn’t let go. He buries his face in the crook of my neck mumbling unintelligible things.

Only when I feel wetness against my skin do I realize that he’s crying.

“Loki.” I whisper. “Loki, no. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m safe now. You saved me.”

“From an ordeal that was my fault.” He groans.

I swallow and shake my head hard. “No. No, don’t say that. It wasn’t… I… I’m the one who went… I’m sorry… I… I shouldn’t have… I…”

Loki gulps and lifts his head. He plasters a very forced looking smile onto his face as he gently hushes me. “Let us not talk of these things now, love. You are right: you _are_ safe. And I shall never let you out of my sights again! For now let us simply focus on getting back to Asgard.”

“How?” I ask, since I have no idea where we are in the universe.

“My brother is out there, looking for us. He will not know our exact coordinates since he could not approach Thanos’ ship too closely, else he risked getting picked up by its radar. But he is close, though it may take him a while to find us. But you are safe now, love. I swear it!”

I look up at Loki. I want to keep apologizing. Keep telling him how sorry I am; how I didn’t want to do it; _why_ I did do it; how scared I was for him; for myself, but suddenly I become aware of just how exhausted, how utterly drained I am. The adrenaline from the rescue has faded leaving me empty, hollow, wrung out. Everything spins again and I see three of him. My ears ring, and my tongue suddenly feels swollen, like it’s five sizes too big for my mouth. The residual pain in my head flares up making me scream and clutch my hair, pulling it desperately. My forehead scrapes up and down over the rough fibers of Loki’s stolen cloak, as I try to drive the pain out.

I feel his hands fluttering over my shoulders, my hair, my face; unsure where to touch, not wanting to bring me any more pain. I hear his voice in my ear, low, and fast, and desperate, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.

The only rational thought in my shredding brain is: _don’t barf on him!_ Then I mercifully fall unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasnt too anticlimactic. It seems a bit too simple doesnt it?! In one of the next chapters I explain why that worked. But it cant be the end can it?! Thanos knows they're on Asgard... but youd better believe that Loki isnt letting her out of his sight ever again. Like, never!!!  
> Thanks for reading, hope you can throw out those voodoo dolls y'all prepped for me now!


	55. Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for fear, residual panic, aftermath of torture.  
> Shorter chapter so I'm sorry. But hey at least they're together again. Right...?!

  
I wake up with a scream. I dreamed about it. About being captured on that ship. Held prisoner. Suspended upside down. In my mind I’m still there. There! Trapped in that dream. That nightmare.

Hands grab at me. I lash out. _Let go!_ I thrash wildly. Screams of panic pour from my mouth. No. Not again. No, they won’t take me again. No, no, no!

“Love. Love, no. It’s me. It’s Loki. Love, you are safe. _You are safe!_ I have you.”

I continue fighting. Because this can’t be real. It can’t be. It’s in my head. It has to be. I’d resigned myself to never seeing him again. Never hearing that voice again. I’m still there. Still in hell. I’m not safe. Not safe. Nonono.

“Thor… I cannot… she is delusional. She will hurt herself at this rate. Bring… bring the sporyllis root. No... Just bring it!”

Words. Loud words. Words that make no sense. A spicy smell. No. They’re trying to poison me. They want to make it worse. Make the pain worse. No. Get away. Get. Away! No!

“Hold- hold her down. I will…. Let me… please!”

More hands. Bigger hands. Rougher. Hotter. Stronger. The Titans'? No. Get off. Get off me!

“Offff. Get off meeeeee. Get ooooooofffff!” I’m screaming. Screaming. My throat is raw. My head tosses. Arms restrained. Kick… kick my legs. _No._

A sharp prick in my side. Hurts. But not too bad. I scream on principle. It's goint to get worse now, isn't it?! Much worse.

“No, no. Please. Please, no more. Can’t… can’t…”

A hand on my forehead. Cool. Soft. Gentle. A voice in my ear. “Hush, love. Hush now. Rest. Rest for me. I am here. I will not leave you. You are safe. No one will hurt you again…”

“Please…” I mumble. “Please, please. Can’t… can’t take anymore. No more. Just die… let me die… please…”

“Shhh.” The voice sounds like it’s crying. Another hand. On my cheek. Stroking. Petting. “Rest. Rest, love. I have you.”

“Loki,” I moan. “I want Loki…”

“I am here, love. Right here. I shan’t go anywhere.” Lips. Cool. All over my face. Cheeks. Nose. Temples. Eyelids. Corners of my mouth. Drops of wetness hitting my skin.

A smell. Familiar smell. Fresh. Cool. Crisp. Minty. Loki? Loki. I slur his name. He’s here. He’s here. Or is he? Is it him? I don’t know? I need to… need to open my eyes. Need to look… See if… really Loki? But heavy… eyelids so heavy… head fuzzy. Floating. Body floating… warm. It’s so warm. Muted light. Heavy.

I drift off into oblivion again.

I wake up. I still can’t open my eyes but at least I’m not thrashing anymore. I know where I am now. Or… no actually, I don’t know where I am. I assume I’m on Asgard. But what’s important is that I know where I’m not. I’m no longer on the Titan’s ship. And Loki is somewhere close by. I’m safe.

Slowly, as if wads of cotton are gradually being pulled from my ears, I become aware of soft voices close by. Very close by. Like, right beside me close by.

“Just go for a few minutes, son. Have a quick bath. Change your clothes. I will stay with her.”

“I am not leaving her, Mother.”

Loki and Frigga.

A soft sigh. Frigga’s. A rustling as if she's stroking his shoulder or putting her arm around him. “So stubborn, my son.”

“You refuse to leave your husband’s side when he is under affliction of the Odinsleep. Kindly do not preach to me, Mother. At least you are safe in the knowledge that he will wake up again. Eventually.” Loki’s voice chokes up on that last part.

“Oh, Loki. She too will wake up. She is strong. You know how strong she is.”

“I know…” Loki’s voice breaks. He clears his throat and continues. “I know she is strong, Mother. But… look at her… She has been through so much already. How much more could this little body take? She looks so… so small and pale… I… Mother, what will I do if she doesn’t wake up?”

More rustling sounds. I imagine Frigga pulling Loki to her, bedding his head on her shoulder and holding him close. I want desperately to say something. To open my eyes. To squeeze his hand where it holds mine. But it’s like I’m mute again. And worse. Because this time it’s not just my voice that’s frozen, paralyzed. This time my entire body is locked away within itself, unable to move, to react, to wake up.

A hand lands lightly on my chest. It's too small to be Loki’s, so it must belong to Frigga. “Listen to her heartbeat, my son. It is strong and steady. She will pull through this.”

“Then why is she so still? Why will she not wake up?” Loki’s voice is tiny and tremulous. I recognize it as the voice of a hurt little boy seeking reassurance from his mom.

Frigga gives it. “She has been through a hardship. Her body and mind were very nearly destroyed. She needs to recover and this is the best way for her to do so. And the speediest. Have faith, Loki. Have hope. It will be alright.”

I feel another hand, larger, heavier; landing atop the one already on my chest. My heart pounds a rhythm beneath their joined hands, letting them know in the only way I can that yes, I am here. And no, I am not going anywhere.

I fade out again slowly.

  
I wake briefly to the sound of someone singing softly beside me in a language I don’t understand. It is pointy with jagged consonants, but the melody in that smooth voice makes the unknown words flow liquid and fluid. It is beautiful. I wish I knew what Loki was singing about.

I slip back under.

  
“Father wants to see you.”

“He can wait!” Loki’s voice is angry; impatient as he snaps at the first speaker who I think is Thor.

“It is the fifth time he has sent for you.”

“And it is the sixth time that I have told him that I will not leave this room until Annie is awake and well again. If it is so urgent then he can come here himself.”

“He is unwell.”

“How convenient.” Loki snarls.

“What do you mean by that, brother?” Thor sounds slightly heated now too.

“Have you not noticed that whenever I require something important, or something pivotal occurs pertaining to my life, your father just happens to fall ill with impeccable timing every time?!”

“Coincidences, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure.” Loki parrots, mockingly.

“Brother…”

“No, Thor. I will not discuss this with you now. I do not care at the moment if you agree with me or see my point. It matters not. All that matters is that it has been almost five days and she still has not awoken. Tell father I will not come see him. If it is so imperative and he is too ill to walk then he can have himself carried down in his palanquin.”

Thor makes some reply but I don’t hear it as his voice starts fading in and out like static.

I’m gone.

  
This time when I wake up something is different. I feel stronger. My limbs no longer feel like limp noodles. My mind is clearer and my body doesn’t feel weighted down with iron anymore.

Slowly my eyes crack open. They’re immediately assaulted by the bright light stabbing into them and I squeeze them closed again. Slowly I try again. I peel open one eye blinking rapidly, and then the second one. Slowly they adjust to the lights enough for me to squint.

I turn my head to the side to see a familiar dark head resting on the mattress beside my shoulder. Loki sits slumped over in a chair next to my bed, fast asleep, holding my hand against his lips.

I reach across with my other hand and slowly brush my fingertips over his disheveled hair. He stirs. His head lifts.

Sleepy, green eyes blink groggily at me and I can tell that it takes him a minute to put two and two together. When he realizes what he’s seeing, those beautiful eyes widen in disbelief.

“Annie?” he whispers.

I nod.

“Oh… oh, Norns. Oh, love. I thought… You’re awake. I thought you would never wake up. I thought you were lost to me. Oh, love. How do you feel? Does anything hurt?”

I shake my head. “Lo... iii…” I croak, my throat dry as sandpaper and feeling as if I’ve been gargling nails or thumbtacks.

“Water!” Loki says, jumping to his feet. He pours me a glass from the pitcher beside my bed, slopping a good quantity of it over his hand, the nightstand, and the floor. If I wasn’t still so punchy I’d find it funny. I’ve never seen him clumsy; I’m usually the klutz!

Carefully he cradles the back of my head and lifts it gently, bringing the glass to my lips and tipping it so I can drink. I suck the water down greedily.

When I’m finished Loki lowers my head back to the pillow. He doesn’t remove his hand from underneath it, stays cupping my head, stroking his thumb over the crown of it slowly and reverently. “Hi…” he says.

I smile, my cracked lips stretching and splitting open slightly as the skin pulls taut. “Hey.”

He bows over pressing his forehead to mine, the hand that isn’t cradling my skull groping for my fingers. I bring my other hand up, even though it feels like it weighs a ton, and cup the back of his neck holding him to me. His eyes are closed. I keep mine open because I’m afraid that if I close them for longer than the conventional blink I won’t be able to open them again and will be trapped back in that waking coma.

His face is screwed up with heavy emotion. Tears squeeze out the corners of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper hoarsely.

“Don’t!” He says forcefully.

I fall silent even though this needs to be said. But I guess it can wait. “How long was I…” I swallow, lubricating my still scratchy throat. “How long was I out?”

He raises his forehead from mine until he can look down at me from a few inches away. “Six days.” His voice is heavy, laced with all the grief and the fear he felt in those six long days.

“I… What happened? Where are we? Asgard?”

“Yes. Yes, love we are back on Asgard. You passed out on me in the pod. My brother found us three hours later. We took you to the healing ward immediately. I… you… I thought you would surely die. You looked dead. But they… they saved you… the healers. And my mother. She performed spells. Made potions for them to administer to you. She said you remained asleep as a way for your body to heal in a stress free environment. But I was scared…”

I stroke his face. “Come on. You know I’m way too stubborn to die, especially when I still haven’t gotten back at you for dumping me into that cold bath.”

Loki huffs a soft laugh though it sounds pained. “Norns, I was prepared to kill Sif and Hogun when they reported you missing…”

“It wasn’t their fault…” I say quickly, grasping at his hand. “It was mine. I tricked them… I talked them into leaving me…”

His jaw clenches as his gaze moves away from me, staring fixedly out of the window. “I know. But still… They were forewarned… They should never have let themselves be tricked in the first place.”

“I was very convincing.” My insides quiver in fear, thinking that he’s angry with me because he’s not looking at me, won’t meet my eyes. “Loki?”

He blinks then looks back at me. He smiles a soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let us not talk of this now, love. I am sorry for bringing it up. You need rest, not these heavy topics. Calm that racing little heart of yours.”

“I can’t…” I whisper. “I don’t know… Are you very angry with me?”

“Angry? With you? Why, love? What makes you possibly think I would be?”

“Because… because I just left?”

Shadows cross his face. “Ah, love. If there is anyone who understands what it is like to have been manipulated by Thanos, it is me…”

A bone shaking shudder passes through me at the name, and an ice cold shiver runs up and down my spine.

Loki pulls me into him gently, pressing his lips against my temple. “He will never touch you again, love. This I vow. You are safe now. And forever.”

My right hand gropes for one of his and he envelops it in both, lifting it to his mouth and kissing my knuckles. “Go back to sleep. You need to rest. Build up your strength.”

I shake my head, suddenly terrified that I’ll be trapped in that limbo again, unable to move, to open my eyes, to communicate at all. And worse I’m afraid that he’ll be gone when I wake up.

He reads one of my fears. “I promise you I shall not leave.”

I swallow, then because I can feel the fatigue rolling in in slow languid waves I nod. I squeeze his hand tighter then close my eyes, letting myself be swept away by the tide.

<https://pin.it/w6tdgfmfhjm6di>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That little part with Odin always conveniently being sick is part of my own little headcanon because I found it just too convenient that he just happened to be taken ill and become indisposed when Loki was having an existential crisis after finding out he was adopted. He needed odin then and Odin decided he needed to be a fragile swooning flower and somehow I think it's been that way all of lokis life. Whenever he needed his dad Odin was like "peace, son; I'm out!" Kinda based off the picture on the link at the very end of the chapter which I find absolutely hilarious. I'd love it if Loki ever did something like that. WHAM! Lokisleep. Lol.  
> Thanks for reading. And rest easy, there will be some calm chapters coming up and lots of reunited recovery fluff. Yay.


	56. Love and Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for nightmares, flashbacks, past trauma, anxiety and angst.  
> So I'm very ambivalent about this chapter. If I had to sum up my feelings about it in one word it would be a resounding MEH.  
> I had a lot of writers block during it which also is why it wasnt put up yesterday... so it may not be quite up to snuff.  
> I hope you still like it though. Lots of healing fluff.

  
I jolt upright my mouth hanging open in a soundless scream. Everything is dark around me and panic curdles the edges of my mind while my brain desperately tries to shake off the nightmare.

They’re back. The nightmares of Jacob. His friends. That night. It’s been so long since I dreamt of that. Well, only a couple of weeks, actually, but after two years of some permutation of the same nightmares basically every time I went to sleep those weeks were like heaven.

But the memories haven’t just been stirred up again, they’ve been magnified; amplified; detailed. So of course the nightmares are back!

I curl up tightly on the bed my arms hugging my knees, burying my face against them and rocking myself back and forth as I cry.

With a hiss of sulfur a candle flares up beside me and then I feel Loki’s gentle hands in my hair, down my spine. I shake and shiver beneath his touch but I can’t quieten the sobs. I’m too raw.

“Can I hold you, love?” he whispers his voice wrecked.

I nod minutely. When I feel his arms close around me I break down completely. It undoes me. That he could be so gentle and kind and caring with me after I did what I did. After I left him. After I betrayed him!

I sob and sob letting him hold me and comfort me even though I know with every part of my being that I do not deserve his love and his leniency. He should be furious with me. He should be hard on me, yell at me, accuse me, dump me, send me away. I deserve it!

Finally my desperation and confusion spends itself and I hiccup myself into silence. When I lift my head Loki is practically lying on the bed with me curled up tight against his chest in a little ball. In the dim flickering light of the candle I can see silver tear tracks glistening on his cheeks too and I feel the guilt punch into my gut. I reach up with trembling fingers wiping them away. He captures my hand and presses it to his mouth, planting a long kiss against my palm.

“Oh, love. Oh, my little love.” He murmurs into my hand.

I open my mouth to say his name in return but the word rises up my throat and slams to a stop halfway up. The feeling is all too familiar and I feel my eyes widen. _No._ Not again!

Loki’s own eyes register confusion as his eyebrows draw together in more of the same. I open my mouth again and try desperately to push the word up and out, to force it past my lips, but it won’t come. I gag.

My eyes lift to Loki’s in horror. His face registers utter and complete heartbreak but when he catches my gaze he schools it into a smile. “Shh, it is alright, love. Take your time.”

I clamp my mouth shut and shake my head. I did it again. I forced myself to keep the screams locked away and now my voice has locked itself up with them. More tears start in my eyes. I don’t want this, I don’t want to go back there. It used to be my safe space but not anymore. Loki is my safe place now, not this. I don’t want this anymore. I can’t … I can’t do this again.

My body begins to shake uncontrollably.

Loki goes back to rocking me, whispering sweet words into my hair. What if it lasts another two and a half years. I can’t do this again. I can’t do this to everyone else again. What do I do?!

Slowly my wild sobbing peters out into quiet gasps and my tears stop soaking Loki’s shirt so insistently. When I’ve calmed down again he looks down at me. “You should attempt to get some more sleep, love.”

I shake my head wildly. No. No more sleep. I’ll just have nightmares again. I can’t do that right now. I can’t. It’ll make everything so much worse, even worse than it already is.

“Shh, alright. No sleep. Alright. Shh…”

Someone approaches the bed. An orderly from the healing ward I think. They’re dressed all in white. I shrink away and Loki pulls me tighter against him while also positioning himself between me and the person. I register him speaking softly to them but I can’t focus on the words.

I’m mute again! That thought keeps intruding and ratcheting up my panic. I can’t shake it. I don’t want to be. I can’t have this happening again, I don’t need it. I don’t! But when I open my mouth to try to force the words up and out they won’t come. I sob harder again.

Loki refocuses on me. “Don’t… don’t cry love. It will be alright.”

I shake my head, want to scream at him that I _can’t talk._ Again! How can he be so calm?! But the words still don’t come.

The orderly returns and hands something to Loki. He passes it to me and I feel my heart shrivel inside me. A sheaf of papers and a coal pencil. I look up at him, my eyes wide to see his own face mirroring the heartbreak and desperation I feel.

“It’s alright. The words will come back to you. For now just use this again.” He strokes my face.

I look down at the paper and the pencil which are mocking me with my uselessness. Loki holds up the candle for me so I can see. _I’m sorry!_

“Shh. No, love. None of that. You have nothing to apologize for.”

I shake my head wildly, fumbling for the paper. Loki grasps my hand that holds the pencil keeping it still. “If anyone need apologize for anything, love, it is me. I was careless. I left you unprotected and open for attack.”

I tug on my arm to make him release my hand. He does. _You couldn’t have known either._

He moans softly. “But I should have.”

 _I left you!_ I write point blank. _I left. I betrayed you. I basically gave you up to be killed!_ I want him to be angry with me! I deserve it.

He shakes his head, cradling my face. “You did no such thing. You acted to save those you love. To save me.”

I shake my head. _I went and I knew you’d follow. I knew you’d come after him once I was dead. I knew that you’d die if I went and I still went._

Loki’s fingers tighten on the paper crumpling the edges slightly, I think when he reads the phrase _I was dead_. He looks up at me, fresh tears shining in his eyes. “You wrote that letter to me asking me not to.”

I look at him surprised. _Were you gonna honor it?_

He takes a deep breath looking out into the distance over my head. “I do not know. I wanted to. It was… your last will and the only thing you ever asked of me…” his voice breaks. “But I could not just have ignored what he had done, how he made you suffer…”

I stroke his face, the heartbreak in it breaking my own anew. I put him through hell! I am so horrible!

He swallows hard then looks down at me. “So I found a loophole in your request.” He smiles bitterly. “You asked me not to go after him. You said nothing about me standing out in the open and allowing him to find me.”

I actually give a soft laugh at this even though it’s not really funny. But it’s so like him to find that fault in my plan… Loki smiles though his eyes are wet. So are my own.

_I’m sorry! I’m sorry I made you worry._

His jaw tightens slightly. _“Worry!”_ he spits the word out. Then he calms himself, though his eyes remain intense. “Love, you gutted me. You tore my heart out. Seeing Sif and Hogun riding in without you, hearing their news, reading your letter, it destroyed me.” He puts his hand on top of my writing hand pushing it flat to the bed. I don’t resist because I know he needs to get these words out.

“I understand why you did it. I know you believed you had no choice. I know Thanos manipulated and used you. I understand, love; I do! And I am not angry with you. But I cannot forget how I felt for those twelve hours when I knew you to be dead and the day and a half when I did not know if I would be able to rescue you and thought I would have to watch you die after all.”

He falls silent. I pull my hand out from underneath his and he lets me. _I knew it would destroy you but I hoped I could give you a fighting chance. But I couldn’t let everyone else die. I don’t know what to say. Except I know I put you through hell and I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Loki!”_

He lets me get it out just as I just let him. When I’m done he leans down and kisses my forehead. “Let us make no more apologies. What has happened has happened. We shall not forget it but the apologies will not change anything now. What matters is that you are safe.”

I swallow hard. _And you._

He nods pressing his forehead to mine, eyes sliding closed.

When he hears the scratching of my pencil they open. _What about everyone else? Are they safe?_

He nods. “My brother and several elite warriors have gone down to Midgard to protect your friends and family. Lady Sif herself is watching over your parents. She feels she owes it to you.”

I shake my head. _She owes me nothing._

He takes a deep breath apparently not wanting to get into this issue again. “I am told the Man of Iron was not happy with the warrior assigned to his protection.”

Another giggle bubbles out of me at the mental image of tiny Tony next to a mountain of an Asgardian warrior in full armor.

 _How did you manage to get me out?_ I write, my hand shaking violently.

Loki grits his teeth. “I believe Thanos expected me to burst in with swords ablaze with all the army in tow. I cannot imagine that he thought me foolish enough to infiltrate his ship by myself, and then to use such convoluted means of escape as a garbage chute… But when he knew me, he knew me as the foolish, arrogant one who would have burst in fighting. I made sure he had this misconception of me though back then I never imagined it might one day pay off in my favor. I acted before him as my brother would have back then. Arrogant. Self assured. Thanos never knew me as the strategist I have truly always been.”

Man, he really is the god of trickery; pulling a long con like that with no idea that it would ever actually wind up being useful! The depths of the deception give me a moment’s pause. He really is deserving of his title.

I can feel myself starting to calm down somewhat. I’m still miserable, still hurt and confused, and I’m still under the impression that I don’t deserve Loki or his kindness but slowly my brain starts to accept that no matter if I deserve it or not he’s not going to stop giving it to me. And I’m just selfish enough to take it.

I burrow into him. “Loki,” I whisper the word scratching and scraping up my throat. But it comes out audibly.

“I am here, love. I am right here. I will never let you out of my sight again.”

“He took my necklace.” I whisper hoarsely, unable to think of anything else to say, and still inanely wanting to find something that will bring the anger I believe I deserve from Loki; the losing of a treasured and expensive gift from him something I believe warrants that anger of his.

He hugs me though. “I shall get you a thousand more.”

I cry.

“I still think you should be mad at me for what I did." The words scrape up my throat painfully but I force them out because I need to get over the not talking. I don’t need it to feel safe anymore.

Loki picks up my chin between his fingers. They are gentle but the strength in them is undeniable and I know he’s not going to allow me to turn my face away.

“Do you remember once telling me that I do not get to decide how you feel about certain situations?” His voice is slightly stern though still so gentle.

I jerk slightly. He’s right. I did say that. Way back when I felt he was trying to convince me to forget about him because people in the Compound were bullying me for spending time with him.

I raise my tear sodden eyes to his. He lets go of my chin to cup my face. “You do not get to make this decision for me.” He whispers, repeating my own words back to me.

I take a deep shaky breath and imagine, as I let it out, that I’m also letting out those negative feelings of guilt. It doesn’t really work. But still I get Loki’s point and I remember how it felt when he appeared to be trying to get me to dump him. It didn’t feel good. “Okay.” My voice is a little surer now. No longer so scratchy.

He kisses my forehead.

Then he just holds me close as I imagine our respective guilt is eating us both up alive… But at least we're together.

  
Later that day I’m released from the hospital. Loki receives strictest instructions from the head healer that I’m never to go unobserved. He also gets an array of potions in tiny vials that he’s supposed to administer to me at certain times during the next few days to help both my mind and body back to strength.

He wraps his arm around me and lets me lean heavily on him as we walk back through the castle to his rooms. He offers to carry me but I decline saying I need to get my strength back. My legs still feel like Jell-O.

It takes us forever to get back to his rooms. His mother is there waiting for us and she hugs me tightly. I cling to her almost as desperately as I clung to Loki. She leads me over to Loki’s single armchair in front of the fire and sits me down in it, wrapping me in a thick green woolen blanket, and bringing me a steaming mug of tea with honey and one of the little healing potions mixed in.

When I’m comfortable she motions for Loki to follow her into his bedroom where they stand just inside the door so they can keep an eye on me, but talk without me overhearing. Or so they think. Seems they’ve both misjudged my earthly ears' range. I can hear them just fine even over the crackling of the flames.

I look into the flickering fire losing myself in the oranges, yellows and reds, watching the sparks jumping, and the smoke curling upwards. Loki and Frigga are talking about me, about how I’m doing, about how strong I am and how my recovery is going. At one point Frigga whispers something to him so quietly that even I can’t hear it. I can hear that Loki doesn’t like it though, because his reply is a low, angry growl. Frigga’s voice becomes soothing as she talks so quietly now that I can only pick up a low hum. Maybe they do know how good my ears are (or aren’t) and only talked so loud before because they wanted me to hear how strong they think I am. Which makes sense. Even though I’m not… strong…

After a while Loki huffs in anger but then seems to reply agreeably. “Not today." He says firmly as they walk back into the room.

Frigga nods “But not too late either, my son. I know it is not pleasant but it need be done. I could do it if you wished…”

Loki shakes his head. “I will.”

“Alright.” Frigga gives me another long hug telling me that she is glad I’m safe and that I shouldn’t hesitate to ask if I need anything. She invites me to have tea with her once I’m feeling back up to strength to which I joyfully agree. She leaves after kissing Loki’s cheek and then my own, which warms me up just as much as the tea.

Loki kneels down beside my armchair, folding his arms on the armrest and setting his chin on them, his beautiful sorrow filled eyes looking up at me. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” I say softly through the constant white fog in my brain. “but okay.”

He reaches his hand towards me and without hesitation I slip mine into it. “Any pain?”

I shake my head and see the relief in his face.

“Can I get you anything? Do anything for you? What do you need, my love?”

“Can I take a bath?” I asks softly, feeling gross still. I think I must have been sponge bathed in the hospital, but I refuse to dwell on that because if I were to find out that it was anyone but Loki who did it I think I’d freak. So I chose to believe that it was Loki, because he knows me well enough to understand that I couldn’t bear being touched so intimately by anyone but him, even if I was unconscious and didn’t feel it.

Loki looks at me his eyes deep and sad. “Whatever you want, love.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Always.” He reiterates what he said last time too.

He goes to prepare his gargantuan tub for me and I drag myself to follow him even though I know he'd come back to get me. But I want to watch him and I feel the same reluctance he feels letting him out of my sight right now for even a second. Even though he has orders not to, and I don’t.

I lean against the door frame, watching him. He turns and comes to me sweeping me against him, holding me up and holding me close at the same time. “Alright?”

I nod. Like I’m made of glass he sweeps his hand over my face, tucking the greasy hair behind my ears. “Do you want me to give you privacy?”

I shake my head my fingers curling into his shirt, holding him tightly. I look up at him his own hair stringy and matted. He hasn’t showered in at least as long as I have. “You need a bath too.” I say reaching up to wrap a strand of his now oily black hair around my finger.

“I shall take one after you are asleep.” He reassures me, capturing my hand in his.

“Join me?” I say carefully, my nervousness turning what I’d intended to be an inviting statement into a hesitant question.

His eyes become intense as he tries to read me, to figure out how sincere I am in this request. He tilts my chin up when I try to lower it under his scrutiny. “Are you certain?”

I nod. I want to. Not because I’m horny or have an intense craving for sexual intimacy, but because I need to feel close to him. Safe. Protected. Treasured. And I never feel more so than when we are alone and bared to each other. Because for us it’s not just taking our clothes off. It’s baring our souls.

Loki still looks unsure. I reach for his shirt trying to unbutton it, but the delicate buttons prove too unwieldy for my shaking fingers.

Loki captures my hands in a warm, tight grip. “Darling. What are you doing?”

I shake my head, tugging on my hands. I need to be close to him. I need to convince myself that he’s real, that I’m not imagining all this. That we’re safe. And that he really, _really_ isn’t mad at me.

I actually manage to extricate my fingers from his grip but I suspect it’s either because he let me go or because he wasn’t holding on as tightly as he might have otherwise because he’s too worried about breaking me. My hands find their way back to his shirt pulling at the fabric. He recaptures me by pressing his hands flat atop of mine, pushing my palms against his pectorals.

“Stop.” He whispers pained.

Suddenly the unwanted thought flashes into my brain that he no longer wants me. He’s more affected by what happened than he says and maybe he himself doesn’t realize it but something has changed. That must be it. He’s no longer attracted to me because I’ve been dirtied by being in the presence of the monster who tortured him for so long. On some level his brain now probably equates me with Thanos; equates me with the pain he caused.

I hang my head and step back. Loki releases me and then faster than a flash grabs me and pulls me back to him on his terms. He backs up until he can sit down on the wide lip of the bathtub, pulling me down to sit on his knee.

It hurts being close to him when he doesn’t want me anymore but I can’t get away and if this is the only closeness he feels comfortable giving me then I’ll take it. I’ll take anything he gives me, even if it’s scraps!

Tears fill my eyes.

“Love, please. Talk to me. What is going on inside you?”

I whimper and lean against him, half expecting him to go rigid. He doesn’t. He folds me into his arms as surely as he always has.

“It’s okay…” I say softly.

“What is?”

“If you don’t feel attracted to me anymore…”

“What?” his surprised exclamation jostles me as he pushes me back slightly by my shoulders. “How could you say that?”

“Because… because I left… I’ve been tainted by… by the one who tortured you for so long. I…”

Loki’s hand covers my mouth pressing down hard. His other hand curls into my shoulder, fingers digging in slightly. His eyes close and his face screws up tightly. Then suddenly he rises to his feet in one swift and powerful move, lifting me with him. I grip onto his shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist automatically so I don’t fall even though I know distantly that he’d never drop me. He crosses the room in three giant strides and slams me up against the wall surprisingly hard for his standards. It doesn’t hurt but it surprises the hell out of me since I’m not used to such rough and impulsive treatment from him.

He pins me to the wall with his hips. His hands slide into my hair, fingers tightening, holding my head in place and tilting it to the pefect angle for him to smash his mouth to mine and invade it hungrily with his tongue.

I can do little more but hold on to him and take what he gives me, feeling warmth spreading through me. He still wants me! Just as much as he always did. That much is obvious in his frenzied devouring and his irrational actions.

When he pulls back I’m panting, lips swollen, holding on to him, pasted across his front like a limp noodle. He still holds my face tightly between his palms. “How could you possibly believe my attraction to you to have waned even in the slightest?” he growls.

I blink at him. “You wouldn’t let me touch you…”

“Norns, love. You are exhausted. You are still hurt. You just woke up from a six day coma… You are still muddled in your mind. I will not take advantage of you.” He frowns then drops his forehead to mine. “But I just have…”

I pick up his head, pushing him back to make him look at me. “You didn’t. You would never. You gave me exactly what I needed. You didn’t just tell me you still loved me. You showed me.”

“You needed proof?” he asks, leaning back slightly, looking troubled.

I shrug carefully. “I wish I didn’t. But I… I’m so…”

He kisses my forehead effectively quelling my failed explanation attempt. “I understand.”

I wrap myself closer around him and he leans into me, pressing me further against the wall as he embraces me back.

“I love you.” I whisper to him.

“I love _you.”_ He whispers back. “And I am sorry for forcing myself on you just now.”

“Stop it. You didn’t. I threw myself at you first. And… I jumped to conclusions…”

“Do you truly wish for me to join you? You are not saying so because you feel it is what I want, or to prove to yourself that I still feel as I always have about you?”

I shake my head. “I just want you. I want you to hold me. I want to be close to you and… and… I just… I want… _you.”_ I finish somewhat lamely, not sure how to explain the roiling emotions inside of me.

“Then you shall have me, my love. In any way you desire.” Loki says, still holding me pinned against the wall.

I look over his shoulder. “Loki…”

He’s studying my face, watching his own fingers as they stroke over my cheeks reverently. “Yes, love?”

“The bath water’s overflowing.”

 _“Shit!”_ He takes the time to set me gently on my feet before he launches across the room, lunging for the taps and twisting the water off. I’m left leaning against the wall, laughing even though it shakes my sore body somewhat painfully. Loki comes back to me, grinning slightly wistfully.

“I am glad my mishap has amused you so.”

“Shit?” I repeat looking up at him through tears of mirth. That word so utterly and completely doesn’t seem like one that belongs in his polished vocabulary.

He shrugs wryly. “Did you not once tell me that it was a very versatile and useful word?!”

“It is. Say it again.”

“Shit.”

I dissolve into fresh laughter.

He picks me up again, chuckling himself, and walks to the tub. At first I think he’s going to dump me in again fully clothed, but he must rid us of our clothes with magic somewhere along the way because when he slides into the silky warmth we’re both nude. This nonchalant removal of the barriers of fabric between our body sufficiently takes the perfunctory nervousness away from me, and so I immediately relax, snuggling into his bare chest.

We lay like this for a while in comfortable silence Loki’s hand tirelessly stroking over my back while I try to gather my courage.

Finally with a giant breath I force myself to ask. “You need me to talk about it, don’t you?”

Loki stills. “Talk about what?” he asks, faux innocent.

I swallow. “You know… on the ship…”

I can feel his muscles tensing. “Why do you think this?”

“Because of what your mother said. When you got mad at her but then said not today. And she said it needed to be done.”

He sighs. “You heard?”

I nod carefully, feeling the first strains of panic reaching for me at the thought that I’ll have to recount everything. But I know I’ll probably have to if only so that Loki knows and can prepare for the threat the Titan still poses. Because he’s still out there!

I start to shake violently as this realization drives itself home. He’s still out there! What if he comes back?

Loki feels my sudden panic and tightens his arms around me in response. “Shh, love. You are safe. He will not touch you again.”

“But he’s still out there… He… he’ll come back. You won again. He’s not… he won’t take that. He’ll come back.”

“And we are better equipped than even before. He will still not get through our defenses. And what do you mean by I won?”

“He… he said that this was all a game to him. You won it when you tricked him in New York and then disappeared off his radar. That’s all he cares about; winning. It’s not even the fact that he’s pissed that he didn’t get to rule Earth. Just that you put one over on him and he needs to come out on top.”

Loki huffs. “Norns. So unbalanced. Do not fear, love. He will not win.”

I raise my head off his chest to look up at him. “But what if he comes back? You’ll still have to fight, right? Nothing’s changed.”

He pushes back the wet hair plastered to my forehead. “Are you asking what will happen to you, love? If I will make you leave again?”

I clench my jaw and nod.

“I will never send you away again!” he promises.

“I’ll never let you send me away again!” I promise back.

He hugs me close again, pressing his cheek to the top of my head. I worm my arms between his body and the porcelain of the tub, holding him just as tightly. Slowly I begin to cry. It’s not a stormy desperate crying, but slow steady tears dripping from my eyes to mingle with the bath water. Loki holds me, rocking me gently side to side. He doesn’t hush me, doesn’t soothe me, or tell me it’s alright. And it’s exactly what I need because at the moment it would only serve to confuse me more. These are not only tears of sadness, and desperation. There’s anger there, fear, remembrance, but also relief, and even tentative happiness. It’s just all the jumbled emotions inside of me, purging themselves in the calmest most peaceful way they can. Alternatives would include screaming, punching things, puking, and maybe hurling myself face first off a cliff or two. So this is infinitely better!

After awhile I become aware of the fact that Loki too is crying. By this time my own roiling emotions have calmed somewhat and so I’m able to push myself up on his chest. He looks at me his face so open and vulnerable with tears streaming from his clear green eyes, his lips parted slightly over his erratic breaths.

I clumsily clamber closer to him and lean forward starting to kiss up his tears and then plant my lips all over his face over and over. His arms band around me and he shudders slightly. I press my forehead to his. His eyes close, a fresh wave of tears cascading down his cheeks with the action.

“I know why we could hear each other even before we even met.” I whisper, hoping to distract him.

He jerks slightly, eyes opening to look at me in question. And so I tell him about what the Titan told me about the connection. That same one that he apparently used to let Loki know I was alive to get him chasing after me.

When I finish he’s staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Loath as I am to owe anything to him I must say that this particular thing was the only positive he has ever accomplished.”

I laugh shakily. “Still doesn’t explain why us though?” I say, tracing swirling patterns on his wet chest. “Like why did it connect you with _me_ specifically?”

He looks down at me. “I have a theory about that.”

“What is it?”

“I will show you tomorrow.”

I huff pretend indignantly. “Fine.”

Loki chuckles at my sullen tone and hitches me up higher so I can bury my face in the crook of his neck. “We’ll be okay, right?” I whisper in a wobbly voice.

I can see his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “We will be!” he promises.

Then we just lie there together holding on to each other in silence that’s tinged with both the joy of being together again and the weight of what our separation meant and all that happened during it.

At some point when the water has already cooled considerably and I’m a wrinkled prune, I fall asleep on top of Loki.

  
I’m groggy and out of it though I do feel Loki lifting me out of the tub, toweling me dry, and dressing me in a buttery soft, green, cotton shirt of his that reaches my knees. I feel warmth explode through me at the fact that he put me in one of his own shirts and not something magically conjured. I knew he wouldn’t put me in another racy teddy because that was just to tease me, but the fact that he put his own clothes on me, that smell of him, shows me once again how well he knows me and knows just what I need to feel as comforted as possible.

He carries me to bed and tucks me in, curving himself around me.

“Annie?” he whispers checking if I’m asleep yet.

“Mm?”

“There is a spell I could place on you that would ensure you dreamless sleep. Would you like me to cast it?”

I blink sleepily. Dreamless sleep? No nightmares? Yes, please.

I nod minutely.

Loki raises himself up onto his elbows, hovering slightly above and behind me. His fingers touch onto my temple, lightly drawing little circles there as he begins to chant softly in Norse. Just like he did that one time in the hospital. The spell has the effect of a lullaby and I drop back into sleep. Dreamless; just like he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. Still not sure how I feel about it. Hope y'all like it better than I do. Also sorry for not updating yesterday but at least this chapter was longer to make up for some of the recent short ones. More fluff ahead plus something that was once hinted at regarding mind reading. Ooooh.  
> Thanks for reading!!! 💋*mmmwah!


	57. Do You Mind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for panic attack, anxiety, sort of allusions of rape though no mentions of the actual act...  
> Sorry again for skipping yet another day of posting. T'was my birthday yesterday so in good old tradition I may or may not have been out getting hammered. Which may or may not have been the best idea on a school night. Oh well. Hope you enjoy. It's a strange chapter but I kinda like it.

  
The next morning I wake up to the delicious smell of breakfast. When I peel my eyelids open it’s to see Loki sitting on the edge of the bed with a fully laden tray on his lap.

“Good morning.” He says sweetly.

“This is quite a difference from last time. Breakfast in bed is so much better than getting dumped in cold water!”

He chuckles. “I thought you might appreciate it.”

He lays the tray across my lap and helps me sit up propping himself beside me so I can lean against his sturdy frame. “How do you feel?” he asks, stroking my messy bedhead hair out of my face.

“Better.” I say after a moment of deliberation. And it’s true. I really do feel better. My brain isn’t foggy anymore and my muscles are no longer sore. Even the anguished turmoil in my brain has calmed down, and I no longer have any residual headaches.

“Good.” Loki holds up a slice of toasted bread dripping in butter for me to bite into.

We sit together eating breakfast in mostly comfortable silence. I’m calm on the outside but jittery and restless on the inside because I can’t help but feel like there’s something different between us now no matter how often Loki assures me that there’s not. I can’t pinpoint it but it feels like there’s some kind of new distance and wariness and caution. Like we broke something between us when I left and he didn’t think to magically protect me. It’s like the guilt we each feel about our individual mess-ups that the other doesn’t think we should feel is driving a wedge between us. And the fact that we both feel like the other should be guilty and we are the only ones to blame is only widening that chasm; driving that wedge in deeper. I don’t like it…

When we finish eating we sit in silence, me leaning on Loki’s shoulder, him resting his head atop mine. He seems to be steeling himself for something because he takes several deep breaths. I’m just about to prompt him to spit it out already when he does.

“Annie, love there is something I must discuss with you.” Loki turns to me, jostling me gently off his shoulder. His face is grave.

I frown at him. He’s being so serious which means that whatever is coming can’t be good. He’s not… dumping me, is he? Not after last night, not when I’m finally starting to believe that he won’t, despite my guilt. Fear squeezes all my internal organs into mush. I blink at him already feeling tears threatening.

He takes a deep breath then picks up my hand threading his fingers through mine. I’m not sure if he’s holding onto me or _on_ to me. “Thanos was inside your head…” he begins, grip tightening comfortingly when I flinch at the name. “You say he was looking through your memories and mostly just trying to find ways to break you.”

I nod swallowing hard. I know all this. I was there.

Loki takes another deep breath. “But the problem, love, is that he may have done other things while inside your head.”

I feel a momentary flash of relief. This doesn’t sound like a break up talk. Then dread crawls I to my belly. “What other things?” I whisper hoarsely.

Loki looks miserable. “He may have implanted… how do I describe this? …mental bombs of sorts, throughout that when they detonate will cause you to harm yourself or those around you. He may have used you as a way to gain entrance to Asgard or to harm myself or Odin or assist intelligence on how to get through outer intelligence and guards.”

I shake my head horrified. “Can he do that?”

“I believe he can. He certainly possesses the technology. However I am unsure if he used it on you, since I do not think he ever planned for you to make it off that ship alive.”

A giant shiver jerks through me. Loki squeezes my hand in apology.

“But… but then what do we do?”

His jaw is tight as he looks at me, his eyes so deep and green and sad and sorry that it twists my heart. “I need to enter your mind to ensure that nothing is amiss.

I rip my hand from his. “What? No!” Panic flares inside me, purely instinctive; the fear of a cornered animal. _No!_ I vividly remember the pain; the agony of that machine prying into my memories. I can’t let him into my mind. I can’t let anyone into my mind again. No!

Loki reaches for me, his eyes trying to soothe. “Listen, love—”

“No!” I shy away from his reaching hand, curling up tighter against the head board. The tray teeters precariously on my lap. I can see the exact moment that his heart breaks in two when I for the first time ever purposefully avoid his touch. It rips me apart to see that expression cross his face and know that I’m he cause of it but the instinctive terror is to great for me to focus on that. I shake my head wildly, my hands coming up to fold over my head as if that will prevent him from entering my mind. “No, don’t. You can’t … you can’t. No, I won’t let you. Not again. _Please...”_

I’m completely caught up in an instinctive panic and I inch away from him, unable to make my scrambling brain realize the this is Loki and not Thanos. All it knows is that he wants to invade my mind, and that hurts, and I can’t have him do it. I cant rationalize with the fact that Loki has never hurt me, never would and never will.

He leans forward again his face intense and heartbroken. I give a small, piercing scream and launch away toppling right off the bed and landing hard on the floor. The tray goes flying, cutlery clattering, the coffee mugs and plates smashing, crumbs going everywhere. But I can’t care!

Loki hurries around the bed to check if I’m alright, picking his way through the shards of porcelain, but my mind and body are too locked into their fear and so I push myself away from him, crawling until my back hits the wall. I curl up in the corner tightly, rocking myself and hiding my face shaking my head wildly.

I can sense Loki in front of me but he does not come closer and he does not speak. After a while my screaming brain rationalizes that _this is Loki_ and he’s _not_ going to hurt me! I still don’t want him inside my head but I know that he’s not gonna harm me.

I can’t unfurl from my fetal position yet though, and so I hold out one shaking hand to him indicating that it’s ok and that I’m alright with him touching me now; want him to.

Carefully he takes my hand and then when there is no adverse reaction from me begins to inch closer and closer until I am fully engulfed by him and in his arms.

Common sense returns slowly. I know I need to let Loki do this because he needs to be sure; **_I_** need to be sure that the Titan didn’t do what Loki said. I can’t put us in danger any more than I already did. I can’t put Asgard in danger! Everyone living here. But I’m scared. Terrified. Nothing frightens me more. But I need to do it…

“Will it hurt?” I peep from the confines of Loki’s arms.

He tightens his hold on me reflexively. “No. I promise you.”

“But you said it might!” I suddenly remember our conversation about mind reading which seems like forever ago but really was just about three weeks. “You said it would hurt if the person resisted. I’m gonna resist automatically. I’m not gonna be able to help it.”

“Shhh,” he soothes me swaying us side to side. “Do you remember how I told you about the concept of mind melding? Joining our consciousnesses into one being?”

I nod.

“That does not hurt.”

I look up at him. “I thought you didn’t do that because you didn’t want to let anyone into your head because you didn’t want to be vulnerable.”

He looks at me his face so grave and sad. “Love, I am asking you to let me inside your mind. The least I can do is let you inside mine in return to make such a frightful ordeal easier for you. And there is no one I would trust more with my mind than you.”

I swallow. “And there’s no one I trust more with mine than you. But Loki… I… I’m scared.”

He strokes my face. “I know, love. I know. You have been through so much and I hate myself for having to ask this of you now… But I must be sure that you are safe. That nothing he did to you will have dire consequences in the future. So that you can put it behind you, love. I cannot bear to think of you moving on and then something occurring later that ruins every step you took beyond this.”

I nod. “I want to know we’re safe too. But… but…” I break off gulping wetly.

Loki presses his forehead to mine. “But what, love?”

“Nothing. I… it needs to be done.”

He doesn’t contradict me although I wish desperately that he would. He just holds me while I try to collect all my courage. “Ok.” I whisper.

“Are you certain?” he pulls back to look me in the eyes.

No, I’m not, but I nod.

He nods in return. “Let us get you on the bed so you will be comfortable.”

“Now?” I squeak, panic returning, although obviously it should be now. We should ascertain ourselves as soon as possible that everything is alright. And get it over with. “What happens if you find any “bombs”?”

“I will be able to disable them.”

“Are you sure?” I can’t bear the thought of walking around with something that’s been put in my head wired to blow and hurt him. I couldn’t handle it!

“Absolutely!” he assures me.

“Ok.” I whisper again.

Loki rises to his feet, offering me his hands to help me up. He leads me over to the bed, lifting me over the shattered mess of our breakfast, then lays me down atop the covers, stretching his long, lean body out beside mine, facing me.

He takes my face between his palms and plants a long kiss on my forehead. “Ready?”

“What do I do?” I ask my voice shaking. I’m beyond terrified.

“Just close your eyes.” He instructs gently.

I do as he says and immediately all of my remaining senses are amplified. The silk feels double smooth and slick below my body, Loki’s hands feel warm and petal soft. The sound of the wind from outside amplifies, the wind chime tinkling peacefully in silvery sounds. The fire crackles, pockets of air in the wood popping loudly at regular intervals. The smell of mint, amber, and rosemary that comes from Loki, the sheets, and the shirt of his I’m wearing intensifies and calms me marginally.

A strange nudging, tugging feeling prods at my mind and I shake my head slightly to clear it, screwing up my eyes. There’s an uncomfortable stretching sensation as if something is pulling the very fabric of my mind taut in opposite directions. It doesn’t hurt but it has the potential to, and I cry out in fear.

_Shh, love. It is only me. Breathe for me._

I still, the discomfort forgotten. I can hear Loki’s voice, but its not in my ears. It’s inside my head!

“Loki?”

_It’s me, love._

It _is_ him. I can feel it. It’s like something large is completely engulfing my mind, encircling it, covering it like a warm blanket. This entity is huge and strange, reverberating with something ancient, an energy like I’ve never known before.

It frightens me on some base instinctual level and I cower away trying to push away at the spot where I feel this entity touching my own mind.

_Please stop resisting or it will hurt._

“How?”

_Shhh. Here, look. Follow this._

It’s as if a glowing silver strand of pure light appears in front of my mind's eye, extending away endlessly into nothing.

_Do you see it?_

“Yes.”

 _You do not have to speak your answers aloud, love. Simply think them and I shall hear you_.

Really?

 _Yes_.

I start to calm down then. The strange unfamiliarity of this being that surrounds me, its vitality pulsing softly, begins to feel familiar. As unfamiliar as the feeling itself is, the personality behind it I know. It’s Loki. I can feel it; feel him, his fertility, his shrewdness, his fierce protection. And I’m mildly fascinated by the fact that he can hear my answers when I think them.

A small chuckle reverberates through me. _Your curiosity is adorable, love._

Wait, he can hear _everything?_

_Yes. I can feel all too._

Shit. Not sure how comfortable I am with that.

_It is quite invasive, love, I know. So why not even the playing field and make it fair. Here, come._

I can feel his mind taking hold of me gently and drawing me forward along that shining silver thread. I follow it at his lead and it expands and grows brighter and brighter until it opens with a glow like the very gates of heaven always do in stereotypical movies. But what lies behind these mental gates is so much more beautiful and divine than I could even imagine heaven to be…

Loki’s mind is vast; alien; endless. He leaves me to hover on the very outskirts as I am overwhelmed with all that is _him._ In the purest form. It is beautiful; his consciousness glimmers and glows in a thousand individual colors with a million facets to each color. It is boundless, immense, I can feel his knowledge, his intelligence reverberating through him, all while I am staggered at how ancient and wise this feels. A soft haunting tune rings throughout his mind, comforting and soul wrenchingly sad at the same time.

It is so foreign so unfathomable to me this phenomenon, this mind, but also so amazingly familiar. Because this is Loki. As I have never known him before. This is all of him, who he is, completely exposed to me, open and beautiful.

I probe forward carefully only to feel him stopping me, gently holding me back. _Shh, love, before you go exploring, will you let me in?_

Oh, right. That’s the entire point of this, wasn’t it? So he can go looking for booby traps in my mind. I feel the fear again instinctive, and this part is weird because as I feel it shuddering through me it vibrates into Loki flashing through his own consciousness and back into me.

Whoa.

Loki’s mind engulfs me tighter, soothing my fear; the comfort he exudes doing the same thing as the fear before, flowing from him into me and back. Were like an reversible current for feelings. It’s amazing.

_What do I do?_

_Do you feel me? Here?_

I do, I feel a gently prodding on the fabric of my mind. It pricks slightly because I’m unconsciously attempting to keep him out but when I become aware of it I force myself to relax. The slight poking discomfort ebbs away.

_Good. Good job, love. Stay calm. Let me in. Slowly now._

I can feel it, feel him pushing forward, entering my mind. I thought he was already inside but he wasn’t, not in the way I’m already in his. He was merely hovering around the outside, completely encircling me but not within. But now he is forcing entry, as gently as he can, but it is still forcing.

My mind locks up, instinctively attempting to keep him out. I feel tendrils of his being snaking out to ensnare my mind. He holds me, traps me within myself, preventing me from closing down to force him out. His hold doesn’t hurt; it’s constricting, but I understand distantly that he’s only restraining me like this to prevent me from hurting myself through my struggling.

I consciously force myself to relax. His hold on me loosens, the tendrils now softly petting, stroking, and caressing. As soon as I stop fighting it the slow push of him invading my mind no longer feels invasive. It starts to feel oddly pleasant. I can tell the exact moment he is through because it’s like his consciousness spreads within mine the way a drop of milk spreads slowly and evenly through black coffee.

I wonder, vaguely worried, how my tiny little consciousness can contain all that his encompasses, but I needn’t have worried. His mind does not stuff and fold itself into mine like a contortionist into a box; instead it’s like both our consciousnesses combine and melt together like two drops of water absorbing into one another forming one single being, separate but together all the same.

It’s an amazing feeling!

I can feel Loki’s own surprise at this sensation reverberating through me.

_Oh…_

The exhalation is soft, blowing like a gentle breeze through my mind, chasing away all the last of the lingering doubts and worries about this being wrong. Because it’s not wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so _right!_

_Oh, love…_

_Loki_ …

 _I can feel you… You are so beautiful!_ I can feel his mind cradling mine like it’s the most valuable treasure in the world. And I can tell that this to him is akin to that; my trust, my acceptance, me. He treasures it above everything else.

The feeling of merging intensifies; this is a release of tension, it is a sensation of giving, of acceptance. I carefully try to probe forward again. This time Loki let’s me go, standing back watching as I explore. I carefully run my mental hands over the surfaces of his mind. They are smooth, cool to the touch, crystalline and perfect. I see jagged edges, raw parts, more than I want there to be, but it is all beautiful, in a savage, unrestrained sort of way.

Flecks of color refracted throughout, dance over me, bathing me in softly glowing spots of multicolored light. How can he think he is not good? This mind… there is no way this ravaged beauty could represent anything bad. There is suffering, the scars of it gauged deeply into his very conscious; there is danger as evidenced in the sharp, deadly looking spikes of hard multitudinous diamond edges… but there is not a single piece of him that makes me think in any way that he is a monster. There is nothing here that makes me want to recoil and shrink from him.

I move forward. There is a lingering darkness not far from me that draws me to it by the utter helplessness and sorrow it exudes that permeates the air. I don’t want Loki feeling helpless and sad. I want to see what this is so I can help him get rid of it.

A wave of distress washes over me and I feel the tendrils of Loki’s being swirling around me, not quite holding me back from the patch of darkness but attempting to stop me from getting too close. _Love, it is bad manners to search somebody’s mind when you are uninvited._ His mental voice sounds desperate.

Oh. I pull back. I hadn’t meant to pry. But still. The utter and complete pain that flows from this dark area draws my heart. _What is it?_

 _It is the residual feeling and memories from when I thought you dead…_ he explains while still gently drawing me away. _Please do not look. I do not want you to feel that._

My heart breaks, my own despair ringing through us. _I’m sorry._

_Shhh, it is not your fault. This darkness cannot be helped. I sense it here in your mind too. It is now a permanent part of us, but love, focus on this instead; focus on the light._

He prods me gently towards a spot of a golden glow that suddenly blooms before me. Awed I step into it.

I am immediately engulfed by a feeling so warm and potent it makes my entire being swell. It’s love, I realize. Love in its purest form. This is his love for me; his feelings for me. I am bathed in them. There is fierce protection, complete awe, heart wrenching tenderness, deepest admiration. I see myself through his eyes; glowing, shining, ethereal, like some magical fairy nymph creature with golden hair and diamond bright eyes. Soft, small, frail, but still strong, solid, and unyielding. Stubborn, kind, fearless. A spirit of the air– a sylph; fragile and graceful, with a core of pure steel.

My first thought is that that can’t be possible. That’s not me! I’m not some magically delicious mythical creature. I’m not beautiful.

Of course Loki hears my self depreciating thought. The words I hear echoing through our minds seem absent, not directed at me, more like he is saying them to himself or repeating something he remembers someone once telling him or having read in a book. _You do not love a girl for her beauty. You love her for her strength, her smile, and because she sings a song only you can understand_.

A wave of sweetness washes over me almost making me dizzy. Loki’s mind supports me, gently stroking through me, combing his mental fingers through the strands of my mind. His thoughts ebb and flow around me peaceful and serene, and it takes me a long while to notice that he is in fact methodically digging through my brain, slowly burrowing deeper and deeper as he searches for any land mines Thanos may have planted.

I can feel him deep inside and for the first time I notice his sharp consciousness sliding in like a knife; painless, but with the threat to damage tremendously should he twist it. I know it’s not his fault; know he’s not trying to make it seem like he plans to cause me pain; it’s his skill, age old and honed to razor sharp precision that makes his penetration seem so threatening and dangerous. He holds so much of my mind in the balance and I know that he’s so powerful, or maybe I’m too weak, but if he wanted to he could strip me bare, take all I have; all my memories, my personality, _me,_ and leave behind nothing but a senseless vegetable in a very amenable mindless body.

He is a panther. I am a mouse. Though he handles me with soft and gentle paws I can tell the claws are there ready to unsheathe at a moment’s notice, deadly sharp and lethal, to do terrible, irreversible damage.

He holds my mind carefully in his aura of power, reassuring me tirelessly that he’s not going to hurt me. I know it though; I don’t need the reassurance. I know he won’t hurt me but the fact that he _could_ and so thoroughly and easily is sobering.

He gently sifts through my memories on the _Sanctuary II_ , unspooling them carefully, determining if there’s anything amiss. I can feel the cold, black rage that overtakes him as he witnesses my tortures through my eyes. Strangely though it’s as if with him viewing this it’s as if all the feelings I still have about my time spent captured, leach out of me and into him, where he sets them on fire and watches them burn, eliminating them.

Of course the memories are still there and they’re still horrible but it’s like he is dulling the raw edges of them, smoothing them down until it feels like this has been a part of me for long enough that I’ve gotten used to it and now can live with it somewhat comfortably.

It’s almost euphoric this easing of the horrid burden of my memories.

But I don’t want him to take all of my pain onto himself either and make it even harder for himself. He already deals with so much…

_Do not fret, love. I will be alright. I know better how to compartmentalize pain than you. I have had hundred of years of practice._

Our minds meld closer like two blocks of caramel melting and combining in a skillet, And suddenly I’m looking through his eyes at myself lying in a bed in the healing ward. I am pale, my face almost grey with dark purple smudges under the eyes. My hair is dull and lifeless and I look tiny. Loki’s hand strokes my hair and I can feel the texture of it soft and stringy beneath his hand which is also my hand. He starts to sing and his voice pours out of both our mouths, the feeling of my tongue curling around words I don’t understand or know the meaning of as surely as if I grew up speaking Norse as Loki did, is indescribable.

_What were you singing?_

_A spell_. I can sense his reluctance at letting me see this and at again allowing the fear he felt here flows into me, but he lets me because it’s not the fear I’m focusing on. It’s the singing as well as the sensation of being one with him, not just in mind but in body.

_What was the spell doing?_

_Protecting you. It was the magic I should have placed on you from the start, protecting you against outside influences…_

I can feel his heavy guilt weighing down both our minds at what he views as a major oversight on his part, and I see as something I couldn’t possibly blame him for overlooking.

I try to do what he did; reach out with my mind to soothe the raw feelings of blame away, take them from him and turn them to ash. He let’s me tinker around, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work the same way. He knows what he’s doing after all, and I don’t.

After a while we just both sort of float in this feeling of being joined. Neither of us tries to foray any deeper, our consciousnesses simply swirling and twirling slowly around each other, melding and flowing, revolving and playing off the other. We are more than a collective being; we are one and the same entity; partners in this dance.

I can touch his soul.

I feel him shiver slightly at my tentative caress but he doesn’t draw back. His soul is cold, not in a dark way but in a way that reflects his true self; his frost giant heritage. It sparkles aquamarine blue like the deepest glacier and is covered with a light dusting of what appears to be glittering snow. Ice crystals form flowers across the surface and my touch leaves a film of wetness within me as if I partially melted him.

He shivers again and I can feel something raging through him, through me; through _us._ A mix of utter desperation, and love, and fear.

I'm scaring him by being so close but at the same time he glories in the feeling.

I pull back gently. Another shiver courses through his being, making him convulse. I catch him and hold him to me even though it takes a great deal of effort keeping such a vast entirety contained.

 _I’m sorry_. I whisper the apology for pushing too hard. I feel the thought taken in by him, unneeded but accepted, forgiven, cherished nonetheless.

I wish this could last forever!

I feel Loki pulling back ever so slightly, preparing to exit my conscious. _Your mind is clean._ I finally hear him whisper. _Thanos has changed nothing_.

Relief floods through me flowing into Loki who takes it and sends it right back to me. _You’re sure?_

_Certain._

_Thank god._

I feel him pull back even more. Frantically I cling to him not ready to let him go, to break this connection just yet. He pauses, thoughts stroking my desperation. _We need to let go sometime, love._

_I know. But wait. Not yet. Please. I want to show you something._

He pauses in his retreat, indicating his willingness to see what I have to show him. I pull him close and then draw him into what appears to me as a bubble of pure light; iridescent and shimmering in pastel rainbows like oil on water. I let it surround us both showing him as he showed me how I see him, what he means to me.

My memories are clumsy compared to his, muted, muddy seen through my human eyes but they still convey my absolute love for him. I let him feel along with me the buildup of the trust I have for him throughout our interaction, starting as nothing bit a thin spider thread and growing over time into the unshakable marble pillar it is now. I let him see through my eyes, mind, and heart his own kindness and goodness. I show him how I see him, his godlike self, feeling him scoff lightly at what he thinks is over exaggerated perfection. Just like he did with me I give him a thought of something my mom once said to me. _Don’t love a man for how he looks. Love him for how he looks at you, and for how he speaks to your heart._

I feel his gratitude and wonder shining through me at this, the amazement that I have idealized him in my mind just as much as he has me in his. Lastly I show him how I see him in his natural form. Strong and unmoving as a glacier with fiery passion that burns out through his eyes. A creature of legends wild and free but somehow with me, not tamed, not tethered or domesticated, but gentle with me by choice, and all that much stronger because of that choice. Feral. Beautiful. Ferocious. A miracle.

God, I love him so much.

His love surrounds me; inside me, around me, _becomes_ me. I am exactly what he always calls me: _love!_ My entire being relaxes and I feel his mind slowly retracting from mine, the last tendrils swirling around each other holding on, stretching for one last brush of connection, until our minds separate.

My eyes open to meet Loki’s, green and clear, right in front of mine. His hand cups my cheek, a smile gracing his sculpted lips. “Hello.”

“Hi…” My voice is slightly hoarse.

“That was not so bad, was it?” he asks with a small smile that tells me he knows exactly what I’m about to say.

“That was amazing! And you’ve never done that before?”

“Never. It was just as much of a revelation to me as it was to you.”

“Is that something we can do again? Sometime?”

He grows serious. “I would not mind it however I must caution us. It can be dangerous to be so connected since it can desensitize a person against physical contact. Or so I have been told.”

“You’re kidding?! I don’t think I’ve ever felt closer to you, physically or mentally. I don’t think I’d ever not want to be close to you in body no matter how often we were close in our minds.”

And that’s the truth. In fact my mind spins and starts to wonder what that kind of mental connection would feel like during a… specific kind... of physical connection. If you know what I mean…

“I know what you are thinking.” Loki says shrewdly.

“What? I thought you couldn’t read my mind when were not connected like that.”

“I cannot. But, love, you are blushing redder than a Frost Giant’s eyes.”

“Oh.” My hand automatically presses against my burning cheek.

Loki smiles. “As I said, I would be very open to trying again, even in some… unorthodox ways. Perhaps upon success we can eventually write our own chapter to add to my mother’s spell books describing and detailing the phenomenon.” He winks at me lewdly.

I blush even more but I have to laugh too. “Wouldn’t that be something? Some super wizard in the future pawing through an ancient spell book only to come upon a chapter of soft-core mind reading porn.”

Loki grins. “It has potential for mischief at the very least.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly what?”

“You know exactly what. You saw it all in my mind.”

“Yes, I did. And a more beautiful sight I have never beheld.”

He kisses me before I can reply in kind.

“Was there music in my mind too?” I ask when we break apart. “Your mind was filled with it.”

“It was?”

I nod.

“What did it sound like?”

I rally my thoughts for a second and then start to softly hum the melody, which is a poor imitation of the haunting though beautiful strains that echoed softy and consistently through Loki’s consciousness.

Loki stills. Obviously he recognizes the tune. “Music of the spheres…” he whispers, eyes growing distant.

“Music of the what?”

“It rings through the void of space. I heard it while I floated through it after I fell, before I was picked up by the Dark Order. I suppose it had more of an effect on me than realized.”

“It suited your mind.”

“You had music too. I only assumed it was because you are such an aficionado for music. I never expected I would get a song of my own.”

“What did I have?”

He starts humming and I immediately recognize the tune of _Hey Jude._

A smile crosses my face. It fits. It really, really fits.

I push myself closer against him. I think in a way I understand what he means about becoming dependent on that contact because I miss it and I want it back. But I can’t even begin to describe the amazing assurance it’s given me too. That feeling from before, about there being a wedge between us; it’s gone. There is no more space between us. Not after that. We’re closer than we could ever be. And yes, maybe things have changed because of what’s happened… maybe it’s made us both realize that the other one isn’t quite as perfect as we’ve made each other out to be… because I left and he didn’t foresee the attack. But really, isn’t love meant to forgive mistakes, wrongdoings? Isnt it about helping your partner see that the thing they view as unforgivable is not what defines and ruins your relationship? I love him just as much after what happened. I don’t blame him. He doesn’t blame me. I wish we never had to go through it but it can’t be changed now. So let the one good thing that came out of all the horror, fear, and pain be this. This us finding each other even more, getting even closer, deepening our love almost that much more.

If anything that was worth it.

<https://youtu.be/bN3lhHTf774>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first time in the whole time I've been posting that the next chapter isnt somewhat ready. I havent yet written a word of it. Yikes...  
> So it may take a few days for me to post it, but no longer than a week, I swear. But I do now have school and work to consider again so updates will be less frequent. Curse you adult life! Anyway, at least I'm not leaving you on a cliffhanger THIS time *evil laugh.  
> I will try my best to have the next chapter up by saturday at the latest. Hopefully sooner. Fingers crossed.  
> Thanks for reading. Hope you liked this chapter. It was a bit different but very interesting to write. Feedback be appreciated!!!  
> Oh, and the link is the music I imagined playing in Loki's mind. For Annie it's the instrumental version of Hey Jude. Guitar. Not piano. Though that's open for personal interpretation.


	58. Soulmates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for anxiety and angst.  
> So the working title for this chapter is Raging Dumpster Fire. I have no idea what I was doing and it seems rather random and jumbled together haphazardly. When my brain finally dragged itself out of its funk of writers block and gifted me this chapter I basically said "thanks, I hate it!"  
> Lol, I should probably post the self depreciating rant at the end instead of apparently scaring you off the chapter by proclaiming what a steaming pile of crap it is, in my humble opinion. But then again I'm rarely happy with anything. Bleh. This is horrible advertisement...  
> But hey, I did as I promised and got the chapter out within a week. Hopefully a new one will be here sooner because my writer's block has cleared. Fingers crossed!  
> Enjoy.

We spend a few more hours napping in Loki’s bed. Or at least I do. I wake up a few times and each time I do it’s to see Loki watching me with a soft and tender expression on his face. And each time that look warms me from the inside out and lets me slip back into slumber.

Eventually though when I wake up yet again he’s gone. I roll onto my back, squinting into the light from the open window, looking for him. He hears me moving and comes back into the bedroom, bending over me to kiss my nose, then tells me that lazy time is over and I need to get up. I grumble and he threatens to dump me in cold water again.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?”

“But I’m sick…”

“Pfft.” He stalks towards me and I shriek laughing, and roll away from him. He catches me, of course, and picks me up easily.

I wrap myself around his front like a koala even though I know I’m no match for him should he really try to dunk me into the tub again. So I try a different approach.

“Lokiiii… Loki... Dearest Loki. Please don’t. Please don’t throw me into cold water again. Please...”

He pauses, cocking one inquisitive eyebrow at me. “You’re begging?”

I grin slightly. I know my little prince and know how to appeal to his good nature. “Pleeease,” I keep cajoling him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “Look, I’m nice. I’m up. Please, my prince. Have mercy.”

His fingers flex against my hips. “You are teasing me.”

“Whaaaat? I would never!” I grin at him. He narrows his eyes at me.

“And now you are attempting to manipulate me!”

I shake my head, trying to throw him my most innocent look.

“I am a master of manipulation, darling. You cannot beat me at my own game.”

“But I can try.”

“Hmm, perhaps I shall allow you to get away with your attempted extortion of my good will… if you make it worth my while.”

“How do I do that?”

His smile becomes lecherous. “Give it your best shot.”

I unhook my ankles and drop my legs from around his waist. He lets me slide slowly down his body, ensuring I feel every inch of the hard muscled expanse, until my feet are back on the floor on my tiptoes. His arms are still around me, like iron bands, prevent me from fleeing.

I don’t want to flee though. Instead I start to slowly walk him backwards, pushing against his chest. When the backs of his legs hit the bed I give an almighty shove, wondering if he’ll go down since even if I wasn’t still feeling slightly flappy I’d never be able to actually knock him over. He laughs as he falls onto his back, then folds his hands behind his head, watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do.

I’m not sure what I _will_ do, actually. I don’t think I’m ready to full on get it on with him again yet. I mean I’m not in the place I used to be where I’m afraid of sex, and sexual closeness, at least not with him. But the memories of my past have been so thoroughly stirred up again that at the moment I feel too raw to engage in this act, even if it’s with Loki. I do feel my usual hunger and desire for him; for his closeness, but to prevent both of us more emotional pain, lest I freak out, I think it would be better to abstain at least for now…

Still I climb on top of him, straddling his waist. His hands reach for me and I grab his wrists, pinning them down beside his head. Again he allows me to do this, though his eyes flash hotly at my unusual little challenge to his usual control.

Then I just sit there on top of him, looking down into the swirling greens of his eyes, the pupils of which are blown with lust. I swallow heavily. Did I give him the wrong idea?

The avid expression in his eyes softens as he watches my internal struggle. “Do not overthink me, love. You know I expect nothing from you, but will accept anything.”

I blink down at him then very slowly lean over him until my lips rest on his. “I love you.” I say, feeling my lips moving against his in imitation of a kiss. A slow tear drips from my eye and lands on his cheek.

Immediately he extracts his hands from my hold and cups my face, pushing it back slightly. His eyes register concern. “You are crying…”

I swallow hard, and reach up to wipe away another tear that’s hanging off my eyelashes, threatening to fall at any second. Loki beats me to the punch, using his thumb to gently collect the salty drop.

“I don’t know why. I swear I’m not sad or freaking out or anything. I’m just… I don’t know…”

More tears start to dribble steadily from my eyes. The more desperately I try to stop them the faster they come, until I’ve completely dissolved into a sobbing mess. Loki pulls me down flat on top of him, folding me in his arms. Eventually he rolls us to the side so that he can wrap himself around me completely.

Eventually my sobs peter out into those annoying hysterical sounding double sucks of crying breath. Loki gently angles my chin up until I’m able to look at him, though I try to fight it since I’m sure my face is a puffy, red, and tear swollen mess.

His eyes are gentle when I meet them; gentle and sad.

“I’m sorry.” I mouth at him.

“Oh, love. You needn’t apologize to me. You know this.”

“I don’t know why I… why that happened. I just wanted to tease you, and… and goof around but… but…”

I can feel the tears threatening again and in a last ditch attempt to derail them I stretch up and press my lips to his.

He stills into a statue and I know he’s assessing the situation, being cautious and slow, not wanting to send me off the deep end again. I wrap myself around him climbing his body, my desperation mounting. “Please…” I mumble against his mouth. “Please, Loki. I need you.”

He pulls back and rolls me onto my back, pocketing himself above me, enclosing me with the expanse of his body, but not smothering me. “You have me, love. You know that. You had me from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

I reach up to tangle my hands in his hair trying to pull him down on top of me, but he refuses to budge.

“Then show me. Please, Loki. Show me.” I hate the needy, wheedling tone of my voice but I don’t know how to stop it. I just want to feel close to him. I was so sure for 72 horrible hours that I never would be again and now I can’t stop it. I know he understands, I know he won’t think less of me for my pathetic begging, but I still hate it. I drop my hands and turn my face to the side, color and heat flaring in my cheeks.

Loki grips my face perhaps a tad harder than necessary and swings my head back to face him. His hold is smushing my cheeks slightly inwards, and my eyes blink up at him, his visage slightly blurred from the tears still swimming in them.

He kisses me then, taking complete control not just in the experience sense but in the fact that I cannot actually move my mouth in tandem with his because of how he holds me. And still I melt into him letting him take what he wants at the same time as he gives me what I need.

I tug at his clothes but he lets go of my face, captures my wrists, intertwining our fingers and placing our joined hands beside my head, as he continues to kiss me slowly and deeply. His weight rests lightly on me, his hair is tickling my face and neck, but all he is moving is his head. He’s not rutting and grinding his hips against mine, or letting his hands traverse over my body as he has in other times we were in this position. He just kisses me so thoroughly and completely that it’s an experience akin to any other we’ve had in this bed.

We make out. It’s the best way I can think of to describe the next hour. We’re all fingers and hands, tongues and lips. We roll through his giant bed until the sheets are a tangled mess. Touches trail everywhere and nowhere at once and even though Loki won’t let me touch mine or his clothes I’ve never felt as treasured by him as I do in this moment. Maybe _because_ he won’t let us beneath each other’s clothes… I never would have imagined that making out would be so all consuming and intimate. If all young couples were to practice making out with the detailed care and dedication as we just did there would be no teenage pregnancy problem!

By the time we’re satisfied and I’ve stopped crying and flipping out so completely we’re both rumpled and mussed, slightly sweaty, with reddened cheeks, over bright eyes, and hair sticking up in all directions.

Loki helps me dress and then spends an inordinately long time brushing my hair for me. I can tell he absolutely enjoys this because he just keeps brushing even after it’s a soft smooth tangle-free curtain. Obviously this is going to become a new thing and I’m absolutely thrilled about it.

When he’s dressed himself, he takes my hand and sets off through the castle with me. We walk slowly since my legs are still wobbly, from residual weakness but mostly from our make out session just now. I keep asking him where he’s taking me and he keeps denying me with impish smiles. All he divulges is that I’ll absolutely love our destination.

I grumble good naturedly and let him lead, trusting him, and knowing that if he says I’ll love it that I definitely will love it! I wonder where we’re going?

He takes me to the library. At first I don’t know what could be behind the huge, old, dark oak door carved with the images of a thousand trees but then I see the inscription: _Libraries are the forests of the minds; books the trees, and knowledge the skies._ Immediately my excitement spikes. Loki is watching me expectantly and when he sees me bouncing excitedly up and down on the balls of my feet he throws the door open wide.

The wonderful smell of old books washes over me first. Then my eyes catch up with my nose and I take a step into the large, high ceilinged room. _“Wow!”_ I breathe.

Asgard Castle’s library is beautiful and it speaks to the inner nerd in me. It’s almost as if I can feel my body revitalizing surrounded by books. There are bookshelves everywhere. Rows and rows of bookshelves in high polished, honey golden wood reaching all the way up to the high sweeping ceiling. Silver ladders on wheels attached at regular intervals allow those perusing to reach even the highest shelves. Little tables are spaced throughout, angled desks with the oldest books already placed on them, open and inviting, waiting for eager fingers to flip through their pages. Squashy armchairs and pouffes are everywhere, waiting for someone to curl up in them and get lost in fictional worlds. High, arched windows allow the sunlight to stream into the room, dust motes flying and twirling in the rays of light, while burning torches provide light in the darker recesses of the room. Larger desks stand beneath the windows with quills and pens atop them just inviting even the most unmotivated person to start researching something; anything; everything.

This a library of dreams!

Loki’s eyes are soft as he looks down at me where I’m hanging on his arm. “This is my favourite room in the whole castle.”

“I can see why!”

“Would you like to look around?”

I nod so animatedly that it makes Loki chuckle. He leads me through the shelves, and I curse my body for still being so weak. I want nothing more than to skip through the high shelves, flitting from one to the next, and look at every book, climb those ladders, flip through the tomes on the tables, but my knees still feel too weak for prolonged bouts of walking let alone flitting or skipping.

I move closer to one of the shelves though and run my fingers over the spines of the books standing side by side, in various varying sizes, colored in different tones of brown, grey, black, magenta, and dark blue leathers. Some still have spines that curve inwards like they did in medieval times. There are no paperbacks here.

Only belatedly do I notice some of the titles. _The Odyssey? The Catcher in the Rye? Dracula? Alice in Wonderland?_

“Human stories?” I ask turning to Loki.

“You headed unerringly for the Midgardian section of the library. It is one that I have so far avoided, though after you gave me your choices of literature I daresay I shall do so no longer.

I huff a laugh. “Yea, well I’m just glad that you also had similar tastes to mine which I practically forced on you. Is there a section for books and stories from all of the realms?”

“There is.” Loki confirms looking out into the depths of the aisles between the shelves. “My mother works very hard to stock our library with plenty of reading materials so anyone may be informed about the worlds apart from ours.”

“Anyone?” I ask slightly dubiously.

“Yes. This library is open to all Asgardian citizens. Anyone may come and borrow books, or donate them as well. Odin is not too thrilled with the arrangement of having common farmers traipsing into his castle which is why this room is in the outlying back sector, but my mother cheerfully does not care.”

“Wow!” It just makes me love Frigga all the more that she’s started a public library even though her tight-ass husband doesn’t want her to.

“Why don’t you choose a book, love, then we can settle you down in an armchair of your choice and you can read while I do a bit of research.”

“Research what?”

“Something to do with what you told me yesterday pertaining to why the connection between our minds sparked between _our_ minds in particular.”

“Aah. Okay. Can I help with the research?”

“Perhaps. I know the book in question, but I must locate it first. When I do I would gladly like to hear your thoughts and opinions on my theory.”

“Sure. Whatever you need to prove your hypothesis.”

Loki smiles. “I adore it when you speak science to me.”

I laugh. “You’re a goof. Okay, book...” My fingers reach straight for _Alice in Wonderland_ pulling it from the shelf and cradling the heavy weight of it in my arms.

Loki leads me over to one of the squashy armchairs pausing to let me look at the book on display on one of the angles desks. It’s an old book written in curly cursive script and very clearly it’s been illuminated by hand. The pictures are incredibly detailed and tiny, thorny flowering vines reaching over the page, people with faces no bigger than the head of a pin whose expressions are still clear as day, a teensy dragon spewing fire into the margins that looks so real I expect it to burn me when I touch it.

When I’ve looked my fill I pick one of the old, threadbare armchairs beneath one of the windows. A long table stands beside it, covered in scrolls, books, star charts and strange instruments I assume are for calculating astral somethings. Strangely even in this pristine space this spot of mess doesn’t look out of place; it looks like it belongs just as much as the bookshelves. A study session momentarily interrupted. It shows that this library is being used as a library should be, and it’s not one of those stuffy places where old, grouchy librarians yell at you in whispers to get your books and get out. It’s a place where you can hunker down and study, write, read, draw, work, or just relax in a quiet welcoming space.

I sink into the royal purple cushions of the armchair feeling them give a soft exhale of musty air as they take my weight. I curl up and open the book, absolutely glorying in that special smell that old books have, and the fragility of the slightly yellowing pages. Loki leans down to plant a soft kiss on the crown of my head before he strides off further into the depths of the library to find the book he’s looking for answers in.

He returns before long and sits down at the table after carefully clearing a space in between the charts and scrolls. The book he was looking for is ancient and gigantic, bound in what was once black leather that is now various shades of grey from the many fingers that have held and handled it. The title though is still clearly visible, embossed in gold. _Magikes Moste Sacred._

Loki pinches the old snap lock that holds the two covers together because the pages are so old and worn that they make the entire book bulge outwards. He sharply slaps his hand down on the top and the lock springs open. I lean forward curiously only to be confronted with a page full of runes that I can’t decipher.

“Norse?”

“Yes. And the ancient language of magic.” Loki answers, smiling blithely at my interest.

“So why’s the title in English?”

“It is not. I translated it for your eyes.” He passes the flat of his palm slowly over the page. Wherever his hand traverses the unknown letters swirl fluidly into ones familiar to me, forming words I can read though they’re still long, complex words that somehow sound vaguely scientific though do not pertain to any branch of science I ever studied. I look up at him, confusion clear in my eyes.

He winks at me. “My area of expertise, love. Do not fret that your little human mind cannot comprehend it.”

I narrow my eyes at him even though I know he’s teasing me. “Remind me to give you an advanced chemistry or physics book one of these days, and we’ll see how well your little alien mind will comprehend Thermodynamics or Redox reactions. Smart ass!”

He chuckles then reaches over to ruffle my hair sweetly. I pretend to be annoyed at him by trying to bite at his hand.

He captures my chin between his fingers. “Do you want to play with me, love?” he asks darkly.

“I always want to play with you.”

He grins at me. “It has merit I suppose…”

“You’re supposed to be working.”

“You are distracting me.”

“I’m just trying to read my book…”

“Really?” He pulls me forward by his grip on my chin until his lips hover right above mine. My breath stutters slightly as my eyes slide closed and I lean forward those last few centimeters to let our mouths connect.

He lets my lips just barely brush over his then pulls back. “Reading, huh?” he asks with a smirk.

I scowl. “You’re mean!"

He laughs, then gives me a quick peck before tangling my fingers with his and turning to the heavy book on the table before him.

We sit in comfortable silence, each reading our book, choosing to do so on handed over letting go of each other. The only sounds are the crackling of the flame of the torch to my left, the twittering of the birds from outside the window, and the steady flipping of pages.

“There.” Loki says suddenly in a quietly intense voice.

I look up from the Mad Hatter's antics to see him pushing the large book he’s been reading towards me, his long finger highlighting a single paragraph. I carefully place _Alice_ aside and lean forward.

_The Soulmate Principle. It is said that throughout the times of ancient that for every soul born, forged, or created in blood, fire, water, earth, air, wind, sun, or night there was only one single true match. Most shall wander forever without meeting their one true mate. In the cosmos of time and space and the varying lifespans of beings throughout the known universe it is altogether too possible that two soulmates may in fact not even be born and alive during the same time. While it is possible to feel closeness, love, affection, tenderness and connection with a partner who is not one’s mate of the soul there is naught that compares to finding the single entity who’s being sings out only to yours. Soulmates share a connection deeper than comprehension, beyond the powers of magic known in its various interpretations throughout the universe. Two destined to be one; two souls forever entwined beyond the metaphysical comprehension. On the rare occasions that two soulmates find each other in their conscious lives it will seem to them as if impossible to exist without the other. They will know each other’s thought, feel each other’s emotions, experience each other’s pain as if they are the same being. It has been said that on an occasion exponentially rarer than the occurrence of two souls finding each other by chance, the souls themselves can reach out to their mate in an effort to aid the two to connect. Such a phenomenon might occur in the two separate parties seeing flashes of a life that is not their own, hearing another’s voice in their minds, or feeling emotions or pain unorthodox to their present situation. It is theorized that most who experience this pass of the occurrences as dreams or other such figments of the imagination. The soulmate principle is rare and many are wont to find it disproved, but the few souls lucky enough to have found their match shall know no doubt that it exists as the purest form of all Magikes._

I look up at Loki my mouth hanging open. “Soulmates?”

He smiles gently. “Is it really so very surprising?”

I blink. “No. I mean… no, it’s not, but I thought soulmates weren’t real. At least not in a scientific way. I thought they were just a trite old romance novel plot device…”

“I thought it a magical myth.”

I look down reading the passage again. My fingers trail lovingly over the words _two souls forever entwined._ I look back up at him.

“So that’s why we heard each other.”

He nods, clearly pleased that I agree with his conclusion. “The connection must have been accidentally opened by the experimental technology. But it sparked between us because our souls were already connected. An unknown phenomenon as the book said.”

I fall silent, mulling this over. “It’s kind of fitting, isnt it? Magic and Science. You and me. ”

Loki pulls me towards him by my hand which he’s still holding. I sink down onto his lap, leaning against his chest.

“We are everything that is right in the universe, my love.”

“We are, aren’t we?” I say, smiling up at him. And for the first time I believe it with every fiber of my being. I no longer feel as if I’m not good enough for him, or I don't deserve him. Because according to this book I was destined for him, and he for me. I’ve never argued with science. And how can I argue with magic?

Suddenly Loki’s head swings to the side. His eyes are trained on the window, his eyebrows drawn together. His teeth clench and his lips press into a thin line.

I reach out, my hand fingertips grazing over his jaw, feeling the tense muscles under his skin, hard as steel. Worry spikes inside me. “What’s wrong?”

He turns back to me, his eyes wide, his face hard. He picks up my hand from his arm and folds it between both of his, holding on tightly as if to anchor me. His shoulders rise and fall on a deep breath and his eyes become intense.

A shadow falls across the library floor, creeping ever closer to our table.

“He’s back…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... sorry. Cliffhanger. Kinda. Not that bad though, I think (I hope). I'm estimating about 5 or 6 more chapters here before the story concludes and hopefully those will get written and posted with minimum wait (torture) time for all my wonderful readers.  
> Also hey, we finally fully answered that question about why they can hear eachother. I hope it wasnt as cheesy and lackluster as it seemed to me...  
> Also sorry for anyspelling/grammar mistakes. I didn't have time to go though this with a fine tooth comb because I just wanted to get jt out and posted for you all.  
> Okay. I'm gonna keep writing. Thank you for reading! And sticking around!


	59. Not Leaving You!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey, it's your favourite (least favourite for making you suffer on a cliffhanger?) author back with an update FINALLY!!!  
> I hope you like.  
> TRIGGER WARNING for angst, anxiety, fear, panic...

The duality of the situation would be funny if it wasn’t so goddamn terrifying!

We’re hurrying through the castle, me being towed along behind Loki by my hand just like the last time the _Sanctuary II_ appeared in the sky. This time my fear is electric, and I feel like I might spontaneously combust with it. I wish I had a rocket launcher so I could just blast the fucking thing out of the sky and be done with it! I’m so beyond scared that it’s a wonder how I can remain upright, let alone hurry after him at this pace.

The obvious fear in the forefront of my mind is the fear of the Titan. Of being recaptured by him, killed by him, having him attack, capture and kill Loki. But a smaller piece of my brain is scared that Loki will forget or ignore what he promised me before. That he’ll send me away again. Because apparently I’m magically protected now, so Thanos and his disciples shouldn’t be able to get into my head anymore and use me like that. Right? So it would be _safer_ for me to not be here. _Right?_

No! No, I refuse! I don’t care. I do not care if it would be safer or better for me somewhere else. I am not leaving again! I’m _not!_ No matter what he or anyone says. I’d rather die!

The fact that I might, is only a dark afterthought…

We arrive back in the throne room where all the players from last are once again present with the selfsame somber and grim expressions on their faces. The only one who’s missing is the Lady Sif who is still on Earth watching over my parents. Frigga hurries towards us. I expect her to go for Loki and fold him into her embrace, but it’s me who she wraps her arms around first in a comforting, motherly hug. I lean into her, smelling a comforting mix of lemon verbena and vanilla that emanates from her. “We shall keep you safe this time, dear.” She whispers to me and in her voice I can hear the deep regret and guilt she too feels about what happened before. But like with Loki, it’s not her fault!

I open my mouth to tell her that but I’m interrupted by Odin’s booming voice, directed at berating his younger son. “I have sent for you no less than a dozen times now, Loki, to discuss this very matter with you. You cannot blame me for us being unprepared for the Titan’s return.”

“I never said that I blamed you,” Loki hisses in reply. “I very clearly relayed my thoughts on the matter to both Thor and Mother so that they might relay them back unto you. I never expressed doubt that the Titan would return. His objective is to seek revenge on me, and compensation for what I have cost him. He has not gotten this either in my life or Annie’s. Of course he would return. But if you will not even heed my words even when they are brought to you by your wife or your favourite son then that is beyond my control.”

“I requested you to come to me. Not send emissaries.”

“You will forgive me for being distracted by Annie’s wellbeing, or at first apparent lack thereof. I replied to each of your missives requesting my presence before your throne with a polite declination stating my love’s condition, and respectfully inviting you to instead see me in the healing ward. It would have served both our purposes. You would have gotten a chance to discuss further proceedings with me as well as gotten a chance to get my view on what had already happened, and I would not have had to leave her side. It is not my fault if you could not lower yourself to the standards of a measly hospital visit, or make any concessions or compromises to your kingly comforts.”

Odin’s jaw clenches and his fist grips his golden spear tighter. I think he’s about to attempt to rip Loki a new one when Frigga moves forward, me still clasped tightly to her side. “Perhaps we can discuss battle proceedings now and table any further arguments for the time being, seeing as what we already have very positively identified as a great threat to our nation is once more hanging over our heads. There will be plenty of time for petty grievances after.”

Both Odin and Loki turn to look at her. Loki takes a deep, calming breath, then reaches for me. Frigga gladly passes me over and I go to him, curving myself against his side. I glare up at him fiercely. “I’m not leaving you!”

He looks down at me, apparently on the verge of making an argument when Thor speaks up. “Thanos' goal will not have changed? He will still be after you, Loki?”

Loki nods tightly.

“What about Annie?”

“We cannot rule out the possibility thwt he may attempt to get to her as a way to make me come to him, as we did last time.”

“I’m not leaving again!” I announce in a clear ringing voice to the room at large, staring them all down. Their expressions range from surprised admiration (the Warriors Three), to tender understanding (Frigga), to outright pity (Odin). But I don’t care. “I’m not!” I repeat firmly for emphasis.

“It would be safer for you, love.” Loki starts.

“Fuck that. That’s what you said last time and look how that worked out. I am not leaving, if I have to fucking handcuff myself to your dumb butt!”

An involuntary smile twists the corners of Loki’s lips.

I don’t respond to it, instead staring deeply into his eyes. “Soulmates, remember…”

His eyes become intense right back, burning into mine like cool, liquid, green fire. I vaguely register Frigga’s little jump of surprise at the term soulmates and I can practically feel her inquisitive gaze burning a hole into my back, but I’m too focused on Loki. I’m also not kidding. If I have to I’ll tie myself to him. If he sends me away I’ll turn the horse around. I’ll leave the horse and walk back. If he exiles me back to Earth I’ll build a freaking spaceship and crash the battle. I am NOT leaving him.

“Your thoughts are shouting at me, love.” Loki murmurs.

“Then _listen!”_

“I need to know that you are safe…”

“And no better way to know that than by having me right beside you!”

“The logistics, love… this battle… these foes are too strong for you…”

“Trust me, not one of them's gonna wanna mess with me right now!” I snarl, only half joking. Loki doesn’t rise to my bait only continues to look at me his face pained and torn.

I get it. He doesn’t know what to do. He wants me with him to know without a doubt that I’m safe. But he also wants me as far away as possible to also know that I’m safe. If I’m by his side he’ll know without a doubt that I’m safe, except it’ll be more dangerous as a whole. But if I’m away from him I’ll be safer, but he won’t know for sure whether I really am; at least not till after the fact, like last time…

Frigga steps in. “Let her stay.”

Both Loki and I turn to look at her with identical surprised expressions on our faces.

“Mother?” Loki sounds shocked.

Frigga smiles. “Do not look at me like that, son. I am not telling you to let her accompany our forces into the center of the battlefield, nor am I telling you to use her as bait. I propose she stay with me. I will, as always be fortifying the castle’s defences from the inside. She will be here, will know what is happening, but she will not be in the danger of battle. And I will protect her with my life, you know this. What better place to know her safe and guarded than with me?”

I look at Loki. I’d prefer to stay by his side, but logistically I know that’s pretty much impossible. And if this is my only alternative then I’m going to take it! I’m not getting sent away again to where I won’t know _anything._

Frigga places her hands on my shoulders from behind. “Unless you will stay with her instead and do my job?”

“And draw Thanos directly to her? I think not.” Loki grinds his teeth hard, staring alternatingly at me and his mother. Finally he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Very well. But she is not to be taken outside the castle walls. Do not let her out of your sight, Mother. And you–” he turns to me glowering fiercely. “you will do exactly as my mother says. No arguments. You will follow every order she gives you and do your utmost in keeping yourself safe, or so help me I will give her permission to lock you in our deepest dungeon for the duration of the battle!”

I nod quickly recognizing his harsh words and tone as the manifestations of his fear for me. “Okay…” I whisper, reaching for him, feeling my throat tie itself shut. Loki grabs my hard by my wrists and pulls me into him, smashing me against his chest, arms clamping too tightly around me. I bury my face in his shirt.

His voice rumbles and vibrates in his chest beneath my ear as he talks to Odin and Thor but I don’t pay attention. I’m too busy being swallowed up by my fear again. He’s going to fight! There’s no avoiding it this time. There will never truly be avoiding it. Because Thanos wants him. He’s never going to give up until he’s either won or lost irrevocably. So even if we were to run now he’d follow us. We will always be looking over our shoulders. Unless they manage to kill him… Or he kills Loki.

Inanely I’m reminded of the prophecy from Harry Potter. Neither can live while the other survives. I want to laugh, while at the same time wanting to cry hysterically. I think I’m going mad!

I feel Loki pushing me away from him to look at my face. I have no idea how much time has passed since I panic-zoned out. “Alright, love?”

“What?” I ask disoriented and confused.

“You will go with my mother to the topmost spire from which the two of you will watch over the castles magical defences.”

I shrug mulishly.

Loki sighs. His hand closes around my upper arm lightly and he pulls me away from the throng of people so we can have a bit of privacy, questionable though it may be with all the superior-eared Asgardians in the vicinity. Dimly I register Frigga stepping forward and beginning a loud battle-plan strategizing session in an effort to give us those few minutes of un-overheard conversation.

“I don’t want to leave you.” I say immediately when Loki stops and turns back to me.

“Nor do I want to leave you, love, you know that. But there is no other choice. If I were to leave with you the Titan would follow us and then we would be unprotected. At least this way when he comes for me I will have all the Einherjar fighting alongside me, and for me, since it is their sworn duty to protect their king and his family.”

“But what if they can’t protect you?”

“Asgard’s army is the strongest in the nine realms.” He tries to assure me.

“But Thanos is a dirty fighter…”

A darkly malicious look crosses Loki’s face; a look like I’ve never seen before. It’s an even mix of anger, pain, fear, bloodlust, and cruel intent, and it makes my insides quiver. Strangely not in fear but in some form of reassurance.

“So am I!”

I look up at him. “Why can’t we just hide again? I mean last time it took him two years to find you, when you were hidden at the Compound…”

Loki’s face softens. “Exactly for this reason, love. It took him two years… Two years is nothing. I do not want us to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders constantly expecting that cursed shadow to appear in the sky. I have spent too long under the Titan’s thumb. No more.”

I swallow hard. I understand that. He _has_ been controlled by the Raisenettes freak for too long. At first controlled by torture and imprisonment, then literally mind controlled, and even afterwards still controlled in his decision to meekly accept eternal imprisonment rather than fight to prove his innocence just so Thanos wouldn’t find him. And it would be selfish of me to stand in the way of him freeing himself of this control…

“Not selfish, my love. Human. I understand your fears, and know that you are more important to me than any petty revenge or self-assertive urges I may harbour. But if Thanos remains a threat to me he will always remain one to you. And more than my own hide it is yours I must protect.”

I nod. “Okay.” I choke out.

He tilts his head at me in question.

“Okay, I’ll do whatever you say, or Frigga. I promise. But you have to promise me that you’ll leave Thanos to the others if you can. Alright? Don’t go specifically seek him out because you want to get revenge for what he did to you or me. If _he_ finds _you_ then kick his ass. But please don’t go looking for trouble. Promise me?!” My fingers clench in his sleeve as my eyes beg him.

I can see the emotions warring in his eyes. He wants to make the promise to ease my worry, however little, but he also want to punch Thanos right in the teeth. Then his eyes slide closed slowly and he nods.

I fling myself into his arms. He catches me and holds me so tightly that my lungs feel they may implode. Or maybe that’s just my terror at what’s to come…

“When do I have to go?” I choke out.

I can feel him swallowing hard. “Now. My mother will open a section of the force field so Thanos’ forces will be able to enter at a point that we choose instead of them potentially penetrating our defences somewhere else and surprising us from behind. This way we control more of the battle, but it means that it will not start until my mother is in position.”

“So we have to say goodbye again right now?” the question scratches its way up my throat, feeling like it leaves deep scrapes in its wake.

“Not goodbye indefinitely, love.”

“You can’t know that.”

“If I were to perish today I will fight every monster in Helheim itself that stood in my way of returning back to you!”

“Don’t say that!” I cry out softly. “Don’t even think it!”

Loki pulls me into his chest again, one arm wrapped around my shoulders, the other one cradling my head, pressing my face against his chest. I push into him, trying to get as close as I can while my breaths stutter wildly. But miraculously I’m dry eyed.

Eventually he pushes me away and stares at me intently. “Keep yourself safe!”

“You too!” I try to say just as fiercely, but my voice wobbles atrociously.

He nods. Then he pulls me closer once again, kissing my forehead with overwhelming love. “Mother?”

Frigga approaches and takes my hand; the one that’s not now permanently attached to Loki’s sleeve.

A shadow falls over me suddenly and I crane my neck back to look up into Thor’s face. “I will let no harm befall my brother today, Annie. Fear not. The Titan will be hard pressed to get to him, I swear it.”

I blink at Thor then whisper a tiny thank you. It eases the raging fear inside me just the tiniest bit, this promise of his, because I know how much Thor loves his little brother and so I believe him when he says he’ll protect Loki. Whether he’ll truly be able to is another question…

Frigga gently begins to pull me backwards away from the assemblage. I walk sideways stumbling a few times because I’m trying to keep Loki in view. He stands still as a statue, fists clenched at his sides, looking as if he forcibly has to restrain himself from coming after me. Right before Frigga urges me through a door hidden behind the throne I blow him a kiss. One of his fisted hands comes up and mimes grabbing it out of midair before he presses his palm to his chest. The turmoil in his eyes softens; centers; focuses…

Then the door shuts between us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So again this feels sorta lackluster to me. But I actually never planned on continuing the story to this point, so before I had everything planned out. Now I dont. I thrive off plans, so when I dont have one mapped out I go kinda wonky. But anyway, i hope i can still draw this story to a worthy conclusion. And i hope I'll be able to update quicker again cause i do have a tentative plan for the outcome of this battle in mind now, which I didnt before, so that left me scratching my head (and ass) a few times without motivation or inspiration when I actually had time to write...  
> Anyhoop. Shmanks for reading. Y'all remain the awesomest!


	60. Force Fields and Fleeing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for violence, blood and gore, and fear/panic. Bit different trigger warnings...  
> But lookie, a longer chapter. And I feel like I may finally be out of my writers block for this story so hopefully I'll be able to update a bit quicker for the last few chapters. We're nearing the end, peoples. Aaaah.   
> Enjoy...

Half an hour later finds me and Frigga up in the tallest spire of the castle. We’re not in the guard tower, which is what I had expected, but instead we climbed up a ladder through a trapdoor in the ceiling. The room up there is low ceilinged and circular, paneled in dark, almost black wood, and drafty because the single window facing the city has no glass.

In the center of the room stands a little podium atop which rests a glass orb with purple energy arcing within it. It looks like a plasma ball.

My misery and fear momentarily slightly forgotten, I approach the thing, bending low to stare at it.

“Don’t touch it it, dear.” Frigga warms from behind me.

I not absently. I wasn’t actually going to touch it, I just wanted a closer look. I turn to Frigga. “What is it?”

“We call it the Orb of Sorcery. It centers, controls, and continually upholds the force field around our city. It carries the combined magic of every Asgardian sorcerer or sorceress that has ever lived in the realm. Yes,” she says seeing my questioning expression. “Loki has imbued it with his magic. As have I. Every time a mage adds their seiðr the field grows exponentially in strength.”

“So this is how you’re going to open the field to let them in?”

“Correct. And as I believe Loki has already explained it to you, opening the protective shield in a place of our choosing will allow us to let them enter away from the village and our innocent citizens, and then our forces will be able to direct and steer the battle to where they wish it to be. It is most favourable.”

“Are they doing anything to try to get in and break the force field?” I ask because even though I can’t hear any bombs detonation or see anything knocking on the invisible force field I can’t quite believe that Thanos is just _waiting_ up there, twiddling his giant thumbs.

“They are.” Frigga looks pleased at the direction of my thoughts. “However, as I am sure you have noticed, not though physical means. They are at the moment attempting with a combination of high frequency vibrations and pulses of energy to break through the shield with metaphysical means. See here, how the energy fluctuates and jumps about. That indicates that the protection spells are activated repelling an attack. When the field is stagnant the energy looks more like calm, slow waves instead of jagged bolts of lightening.”

“Could they dig up underneath the force field up through the ground?” I ask worried, suddenly remembering a sci-fi movie I once saw, where the battle was lost because of this exact strategy.

Frigga smiles delightedly, apparently again surprised and impressed at my observation. “They could not. This shield is not a dome, as it might suggest, but it is in fact a sphere that extends in even directions all around the city; up, down, and to every side.”

I nod, turning to look out the window. Below I can see the army of Asgard assembling, tiny like ants from my high vantage point, and shimmering golden as the sunlight glints off their armor. Near the front I can make out the regal form of Odin on a black horse with eight legs. Beside him Thor’s red cape shines almost garishly, while Loki’s green one looks more mutely elegant in coloring.

I feel a lump rising in my throat as I look at Loki down there, sitting astride his horse, his dark head leaning to the side against Thor’s blond one as they presumably discuss tactic or strategy or whatever two estranged brothers chat about before they do battle side by side for the first time in years. Especially if their last few battles were against each other...

As I stand watching; almost as if he feels me, Loki looks up and back, right towards the castle’s tallest spire. I’m too far away to determine facial expressions so I don’t know what look is on his face. I want to imagine it’s grim determination rather than worry, but I don’t know. Wanting to believe that he can see me standing here, but knowing that he most likely can’t, I stay, holding the imaginary eye contact until he turns away, back towards his brother.

I look over my shoulder at Frigga, who is standing before the glowing orb, her hands hovering over the glass surface, yellow magic sparking in her fingertips.

“What are we waiting for?” I ask carefully.

“The signal…”

I’m just about to ask what the signal is when there’s a great roar from below. My head snaps around to see bolts of blue-white lighting exploding from the sky, their jagged shafts arcing inwards into one giant stream of energy that concentrates in Mjolnir which Thor holds high above his head while Odin emits the battle cry. The signal!

The air about a hundred meters up begins to glow faintly purple, spider webs of energy; honeycomb patterns of protection start to come apart leaving a hole in the force field several yards wide.

Almost immediately the bay doors of the gigantic vessel open and… _things_ start pouring out. I can’t tell if they’re ships or beings, or some horrifying combination of both. But they’re black and they have a sheen to them not unlike metal, but also not unlike the hard armour of beetles, and they’re numerous, swarming, and buzzing like a plague of locusts being belched out by this ship like it’s some twisted mother and these things are its larvae... My stomach turns and twists in fear and dread. The tide of them is never ending it seem, and too soon it looks like they outnumber the Asgardians twenty to one.

But then lightning strikes again. Thor’s power crackles through the sky, colliding with the monsters higher up, sending sparks and bodies raining to the ground. Lower down more flashes of light, both white and green show that Odin and Loki aren’t being idle either, though Thor’s massive display of power is stealing the show simply because it’s more eye-catchingly bright. And still monsters come, many of them managing to escape the various flashes of light, falling to the ground where they’re immediately set upon by the rest of the army. Soon the sounds of battle are filling my ears and making my insides twist in horror.

Let me tell you something: all those movies that have giant battle scenes, whether they be sci-fi, fantasy, medieval, or historical re-enactments, they’re all wrong. A real battle doesn’t just _sound…_ although it does that too. Clanging of swords, fierce war cries, screams of pain; of agony that’s indescribable. And it doesn’t matter who’s screaming because the sounds of pain and fear from friend or foe are the same in death throes. _En masse_ you can even hear the sound of swords and spears and dark magic ripping through bodies, rending flesh in two, cleaving heads from necks and shoulders, the shattering of bones… Add into that the _sights_ of battle, if you’re like me and you can’t tear your eyes away even though everything you have is screaming at you to close your eyes, cover your ears, and curl up in a corner to avoid and escape the horror. Blood. Everywhere. Explosions of red, some splattering in all directions like a macabre water balloon fight with food coloring, other times a great wave of crushing scarlet, or squirting like a geyser from the stumps of severed extremities. And if all of that wasn’t bad enough there’s something that no movie can ever really get across no matter how well written, or generously budgeted it is. The _smell!_ Death has a scent. It’s heavy and cloying. It seeps inside you making you want to throw up. It’s blood, and copper, burnt flesh, dirt, fear, vile, disgusting; indescribably all mixed into one, hanging like a haze over everything so that even if you were to close your eyes and stuff your fingers in your ears _la la la I can’t hear anything_ you would still know that only meters away from you they’re dying by the dozens. They’re fighting for their lives; for yours. You can’t escape the horror; can’t escape the fear. It turns into a living thing, huge, cramped into the tiny space between your ribcage, each scream, each clang of sword against sword, each whiff of blood tainted air making it sink its claws and fangs tighter inside you. Until you can no longer breathe. But you have to, because if you stop then what’s to say your loved ones who are fighting won’t stop too…

And through all of that is the fear, pounding through my every nerve, vein, and artery. The fear for my own life, for the lives of the friends I’ve made here, for every innocent person fighting. But most of all for Loki. My mind spins wildly in all directions painting pictures of horror for me, every way I can possibly conceive in which he might be killed. He can’t be. I can’t lose him! I _can’t!_ I don't know what I'll do if he... _No!_

I’m so afraid that nothing but my fear exists. My fear and their blood.

I lose track of time. I stand watching the carnage with eyes that see but can’t truly take it in, and ears that reverberate with chaos and screams. Time slips by as Frigga opens and closes the force field, rigidly controlling the number of enemies she let’s in. Every time the force field closes the invading army bottlenecks against the invisible barrier and when it opens again they pour in with a frightening vigor and speed, only to have most of their numbers immediately razed down by thunder, lightning, magic, arrows, and spears. But no matter how many of them fall, there’s always at least ten to replace them. It’s endless.

When I finally manage to snap out of whatever funk the horror has transported me into it seems like endless hours have passed but at the same time only mere minutes. I turn to look at Frigga, feeling a fissure of shock at how her face is pale and sweaty and she’s shaking on her feet.

I rush to her side, grasping on to her shoulders, as if I could actually steady her. The din from outside fades into the background, eclipsed by my worry for her. She blinks hard and looks at me. “Is everything alright, dear?”

“I’m fine. Are you? You look… worn out.”

She gives her head a little shake, then uses her wrist to wipe back the hair that’s stuck to her face. “I am alright. This task is… taxing. It is rare that we have to do work that requires one to play with the force field in this way, opening and closing it at whim. Generally we lower and raise sections at a time only once to determine that everything is in optimal working order.” She blows out a long breath. “Still I suppose there is no better time to take a break than now…” Her long fingers flex against the globe for a few more seconds, then she steps away. When I turn to look out the window I see the honeycomb pattern of the fore field sparkle back into place. The tide of invaders halts.

I turn back to Frigga just in time to catch her under the armpits as she stumbles backwards. I’m not strong enough to hold her up so I just try to lower her to the floor somewhat slowly, going down with her.

“Oh, thank you, dear. Do not look so worried. I only need… a simple spell…” She spreads her fingers wide, the palms of which begin to glow with yellow light. As I watch the light gets brighter and brighter until the glow seems to have gone inside her, emanating from under her skin, travelling upwards through her arms and up her neck. Her head tips back and her eyes close as the glow takes over her face. Her hands close, extinguishing the light in her palms, and like a reverse fuse the glow under her skin goes dark too. Her eyes open, for a brief second, yellow fire in her stately face, then this light too dies down. She takes a deep breath and smiles at me, bringing one hand up to cup my cheek. “There. All better.”

“What did you just do?” I ask awed. She really does look _all better._ She’s no longer so pasty pale, and drenched in cold sweat. Her eyes look sparkly with energy and her cheeks are rosy. She straightens up from her slouched position but stays sitting, sliding back until her back leans against the wall, gesturing with one hand for me to join her.

“I siphoned energy from the air around me.”

“You can do that?”

“It is inadvisable to do it too much, and it is difficult. The energy I take comes from living beings in the vicinity. If I were a younger sorceress, much less experienced I likely would have taken the energy from you, as the closest living source nearest me, even if I had not been my intention to do so.”

I pause, taking internal inventory. I don’t _feel_ like she took any energy from me…

Frigga laughs softly. “Fear not, Annie dear. As I said I am quite experienced and as such have taught myself to take what I need from a source I chose. In this case I reached all the way to the ground and took what I required from the plants… It pains me to say that there might be a dead flower or two in my garden tomorrow… but alas, it was needed.”

“That’s really cool…” I say, thinking how useful that would have been after my many, many sleepless nights over the past years.

Frigga laughs lightly then grows serious. “How are they faring down there?”

I shrug, the fear slamming back into me full force. “I don’t know… I mean I think they’re doing okay. They’re killing more bad guys than the bad guys are killing good guys, but there’s just _so many_ bad guys.”

Frigga nods. “Thanos’ army is massive. Through they do not work for him willingly…”

“Slaves?”

“Most likely. Whether bought, or enslaved by the power of the Mind Stone I know not. I daresay both.”

“I just hate him more and more…” I mumble. “How can they win?” I suddenly blurt out desperately, my fear finding its voice.

Frigga smiles gently. “Odin has faced greater odds and emerged victorious. Do not underestimate Asgard's might.”

“Aren’t you worried about him?”

“Of course, dear. But I am used to such happenings as being separated from my husband in battle. This is not my first time manning the castle while Odin knocks heads together somewhere else.” She laughs lightly but I can see in the strain around her eyes that she is a lot more worried than she lets on.

“I just… I don’t… If only I knew how Loki was doing I think I’d be a bit calmer. But I can’t even see him down there anymore…”

Frigga’s head tilts to the side. “Perhaps I can help.”

I frown questioningly. Help how?

Her face takes on a look of intense concentration. “This is a spell I have never worked before. I only read about the theory in casting it. But I have never encountered soulmates before."

“Really? Never?” It must be a lot rarer then than I thought if even Frigga at however many thousands of years old, has never encountered any. “So not even you and Odin..?”

“No. We love and treasure each other dearly but no, we are not soulmates. But this spell… if you and Loki truly are as you believe this will open that connection that exists between you. You will be able to feel him, to sense him, to know instinctively how he is. You will be able to find him with ease should you go looking for him.”

“It’s… but it’s not…” I break off, biting my lip, then I quickly and as concisely as possible explain to her the one instance Loki and I have already had where we experienced the connection between our souls and what sparked that connection in the first place. “It’s not like that, is it?”

“No! No, darling, that was a horrible way to connect two souls for the first time. And this was only a single thread of your souls connected, thrumming with agony and fear. This spell will connect your whole soul, every piece of it; the good, the bad; the light, the dark. Until I can reach Loki and perform the spell on him as well you will only be able to sense him, he will not feel you yet. But perhaps it will give you a bit of that peace of mind you seek?”

I think about it. I do want it, of course I do. But I also want to talk to Loki about it, to ask him if it’s okay with him. I know how much he values his privacy and his autonomy, especially after having lost it to the purple bastard who still hasn’t yet made an appearance. I don’t want Loki to be uncomfortable or feel like I’ve invaded his privacy or anything like that.

But then I hear a long drawn out scream from outside and the terror washes back. What if that was Loki? I won’t know unless…

“Yes.”

Frigga studies me, determining the conviction behind my words.

“Yes, please.” I repeat.

She nods, then reaches out taking my face between her palms. Her thumbs rest on my forehead, meeting in the center and drawing one long sweep out and downwards, over and over as she begins to whisper lilting melodious words in Norse.

When she pulls away I feel no different. For a moment my heart sinks because I automatically take this to mean that Loki and I aren’t soulmates after all. But then I notice something. I frown, focusing intently on it. It’s like a new facet of my mind, one that’s always been there but that I never noticed before. It’s … weird; unknown, but at the same time familiar in an achingly beautiful way.

It’s Loki, I realize. It’s him. I can _feel_ him. He’s alive. He’s pissed. And he’s determined. I can’t tell what he’s doing, and I can’t hear him; what he’s saying, if he’s saying anything at all. But I can still _hear_ him. I can hear the vibrations of his feelings and emotions, the anger that bubbles through him as he fights for us far down below. And I can’t describe it but I know I’d be able to find him if I went looking right now. He could be standing in the center of a maze and I’d be able to walk straight into his arms without ever even once hitting a dead end.

I look up at Frigga with wonder clear in my eyes. She smiles at me in response, obviously delighted that her spell worked and that she’s given me back some semblance of hope.

Then suddenly her face freezes. The smile slides off it like water off a pane of glass. Automatically my insides freeze in response to her obvious fear. “What’s wrong?”

“Some of them are inside the castle.”

“What? How?”

“Perhaps they managed to sneak past the guards. Perhaps they killed them. I do not know. But we must get out of here. We are cornered in this room should they be looking for it. Come.”

She rises swiftly and takes my hand pulling me out the door. I stumble after her feeling everything inside of me turning to stone. They’re in the castle! Why? The fight is outside. Are they looking for me? What if they’re looking for me? Or maybe they’re after the force field? To lower it so the whole army can fly in and obliterate Asgard. Or both? Oh god oh god oh god!

I barely register Frigga performing more chanting spells over the door which becomes rimmed in soft yellow light. I’m guessing she’s protecting the force field room so no one can enter to bring down the protective barrier. Will it hold? I hope so… I can’t even consider the alternative without feeling like I’ll dissolve into a puddle of frightened goo.

Again Frigga grabs my hand and pulls me along behind her. I trip in her wake, numbly following her lead, my brain simultaneously in overdrive and in danger of shutting down with the pure fear I feel.

I barely register where we’re going. I have to trust that Frigga has some sort of plan or goal in mind because I can’t think straight to even suggest a good hiding place, even if I actually knew my way around this castle.

I snap out of my funk when she drags me through a door, slamming it behind her and whispering more hasty words. I shake my head like a wet dog trying to get rid of the all consuming panic because I can sense that something in Frigga has shifted.

She’s no longer focused on getting away. It’s more like she’s now worried about… defending… something…

An almighty bang on the door echoes through the room, making me shriek and Frigga urge me backwards.

“What’s happening?” I cry, grabbing onto her arm.

“Shh, be still. Some of Thanos' troops have located us. I do not know how but I assume they were somehow tracking my magic. They will have come for me since I do not doubt that the Titan will know that as this realm's most powerful magic user I am the one keeping his forces out. They will have been sent to eliminate me.”

“Then what are we doing? Let’s go.” I say hurriedly, pulling on her sleeve, noticing that there’s another door right behind us. “Come on. Please.”

Frigga smiles gently, reaching down to easily untangle my grasping hands from the fabric of her dress. “They are here for me. If I go with you they will simply follow, continuing to track me and eventually catch up to us either way. When they do, if you are with me it will put you in the crosshairs. I cannot allow you to be in danger because of me. You must leave me here. Find Loki.”

I shake my head wildly, hearing what she’s saying but refusing to understand it, or to act on it. “No. No! Mm-m. I’m not… I can’t just leave you…”

She’s nodding in time to me shaking my head, continuing tirelessly to detangle my fingers from her sleeves. “Yes. You can. You must. Go. Go on. Out that door, and down the stairs. Find Loki. Tell one of the Einherjar to retrieve him from the battle field. Do not under any circumstances go out there. Do not put yourself in danger. Go!”

I’m still shaking my head. Behind Frigga I can see the door bulging inwards with every calamitous bang of whoever is outside attempting to break it down and get in.

In an explosion of wood splinters and yellow sparks of a hurriedly, haphazardly placed spell, the door bursts open. Five snarling, growling monsters, all teeth, talons, and black metal armor, with glinting swords and heavy boots and helmets crowd through the open doorway.

“Run.” Frigga says quietly, but sternly, giving me a gentle shove backwards.

And still I shake my head wildly, staring at her. I can’t just leave her. There’s five of them. They’ll kill her!

“Remember your promise, Annie. _Go!”_

“No,” I gasp. “Please. I’ll stay. We’ll both run. Hide. There must be another way!”

Frigga looks down at me, her eyes tender. “Do not fear for me, my child. My life is in my hands. But my son has also placed your life in them, and protect it I will. Now, go. Find Loki. Use the connection as I told you. He will know what to do. Go. Go now!”

I’m still shaking my head, tears starting to stream down my cheeks as she pushes me gently towards the door. She’s nodding at me, in time with my shaking head, endlessly undoing my grasping hands from her. And I’m backing up. I’m doing as she tells me to. I’m going. Even though it shreds me to leave her. I pause in the doorway.

“Be careful.” Frigga says.

“I should be telling you that.” I choke out on a sob.

She laughs softly. “Perhaps you should be telling that to those who are coming for me.”

She pushes me backwards out the second door as the five hulking shadows start as one to move forward, surprisingly coordinated for such giant brutes; though I notice absently that they’re still not even half as big as the Titan. Then Frigga throws the door closed in my face turning away. The last I see of her is her drawing her sword as she moves towards the monsters.

I turn and run down the steps, sprinting until it feels like my lungs might explode. When I finally slow I press my back to the wall, sucking in desperate heaving breaths. I can’t think. Frigga… she might even now be dead. What chance could she possibly stand against those five monsters? Loki’s mother… the Queen. The woman who’s been nothing but kind and accepting of me since the first time she saw me… she might be dead or dying right now. And it’s my fault! She’ll have died protecting me. All because I was too stubborn to leave Loki…

Loki! I’m supposed to be finding him. I need to find him because otherwise I’m unprotected here in these halls. If the monsters have infiltrated the castle there could be more of them around every corner. And if they find me and capture or kill me then Frigga’s sacrifice will have been in vain! I can’t let that happen.

I look around to my left and right. No monsters. I don’t hear the telltale clanking of their approach either and so I close my eyes focusing all my senses on finding Loki.

I hurry through the castle occasionally throwing looks out the windows at the battle raging below. I can’t make out any sign of anything that could be Loki, and my heart is fluttering too fast, my brain overwrought with feelings of pure fear for him, for Frigga, for me to be able to spare even that small section to feel what he is feeling.

My wild flight takes me around corners up and down stairs, through winding corridors, and I have just enough common sense left in my screeching brain to listen for the sounds of enemies approaching and to peek around every corner. When I hear it I don’t even pause to think.

The heavy clanking of swords probably as tall as me, and boots weighing about the same as I do, clumping down the corridor. I’m too close to this end of the hallway; they sound like they’re right around the corner. If I turn back I’ll never be able to reach the other corner before they see me. And there’s no doors in this hall. Only a window at least twenty storeys above the ground. There’s nothing but a sun faded tapestry depicting Odin on his eight legged horse, his sword raised high, in a pose that’s suspiciously similar to that famous David painting of Napoleon crossing the alps. As if controlled by a puppeteers string my head flies to the left towards this very tapestry. And even though it’s stupid because there’s nothing behind it but a smooth, unbreakable brick wall, my hand reaches out and pushes the tapestry aside as if the monsters won't immediately see the telltale lump of me hiding behind it.

And then, wonder of all miracles I stumble forward into a room behind the tapestry. As it falls back into place, leaving no me shaped lump behind, I realize that this isn’t just an alcove; it’s an entire passage! It’s pitch black, but who needs light when you have the power of your soul guiding you towards its mate. I can feel the pull of Loki directing me down this secret passage, even as the heavy footsteps outside indicate that the monsters have drawn even with my hiding place and are passing it without a second thought. So they didn’t hear me, or see me, or… fucking smell me or whatever. Thank God!

My mind returns to Frigga. Where these the same monsters that came for her? Did they walk down that hallway with her blood on their swords, their bodies still ringing with adrenalin from their fight with her, because I don’t doubt that she put up a fight, but how could she win? Five against one, each outweighing her by at least two hundred pounds and three heads bigger than her. Even with magic how could she possibly…?

I bury my face in my hands, pushing hard into my eye sockets trying to drive out the images of Frigga impaled, skewered through, murdered, _dead!_ Despair grips hold of me. Loki! I need to find Loki. She told me to find him. I take a deep breath and push all thoughts of the queen from my mind. There will be time for that later. Probably. If I survive this. If I don’t… well, then it doesn’t matter right?!

I tip my head back leaning it against the rough stone wall and close my eyes. Focus! Focus on Loki. I know how to find him but I don’t know how I’ll find him, in what mindset.

As soon as my mind clears and I find the connection I can tell that he’s not fighting anymore. He’s no longer so intently, murderously, deadly focused. Instead he’s under a different kind of concentration. Almost as if he’s looking for something? What? Me? But he’s no longer on the battle field because the wild adrenaline has gone down, and there’s an air of calm precision that I’m getting from him. So he must be in the castle. And safe for me to approach as long as there are no enemies around him.

My eyes open from the pitch blackness of my eyelids, into the pitch blackness of the secret passage. I turn and, keeping one hand on the wall and one stretched out in front of me to make sure I don’t run face first into anything, I set out to find Loki, using the new found connection I have to him as a guiding light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moooooore cliffhangerssssssss. If you kept those voodoo dolls of me from a few chapters back you might want to bring em out again. I guess the question you should ask yourself here is "is she strong enough as a writer and a person to actually kill one of her own characters or just one of the good guys in general?"  
> Am I? Who knows?! I sure dont...  
> Thanks for reading. Hopefully I'll see you soon with an update! Fingers crossed.


	61. Dance of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING again for blood, and gore, and death, and all that stuff. It's a war, people. Take care if you dont have a strong stomach...

I have forgotten what war feels like. I have pushed from my mind the surge of adrenaline that makes me bloodthirsty in the face of a hundred foes. I have forgotten that after my eyes are endlessly assaulted with the violent crimson color of blood from body after body falling at my feet, after an indeterminate amount of time has passed the color no longer seems quite so horrifying. It becomes almost grey in tinge. When my eyes are assaulted over and over, and endlessly with a single color, that color loses all its qualities, reminiscent of how a word repeated in a whisper on an endless loop begins to sound awkward and wrong. One can becomes benumbed to the sight of death, of blood, brains, and guts smeared on the blade of one’s sword, the tip of one’s spear, the hem of one’s cape, one’s own hands. My brain has not recalled ‘til now how desensitized I become to the act of taking life. At first I am acutely aware of the fact that every foe felled by my own hand is a living entity with potentially a family, partner, children, a mother, a _life,_ even if the enemies race is different than my own. No matter how much of an enemy they may have been, that acute awareness hovers. Only in the beginning however, for as the number of deaths brought about by my own hands increases, the conscience decreases, until killing; taking life, requires nary a second thought. My body begins to act on its own accord. Dodge, weave, slash, stab, magic blast, evade, attack, thrust, back away, swipe, repeat. Over and over and over again.

I have forgotten that the fear; the jittery nerves felt before the attack, goes away. Even at spear's point, with an enemy snarling, baring down about to drive his sword home through my heart I feel no fear. I have forgotten the grimly satisfied smile that would creep over my face when the sword would go right through the bodiless chest of the illusion I had cast to confuse, and how that smile only stretched as the monster howled in anger, knowing that it had been duped as it spun around to see the real me, behind it the whole time, impaling it upon my own sword.

I have forgotten how hot blood is when it washes over my hands, freshly expelled from the newly made corpse at my feet. I have forgotten the little bursts of heat over my face as spittle flecked with blood rains down as the enemy collapses and spews out his final desperate breath.

I have forgotten the utter horror of it all.

I have forgotten how good it feels...

“Loki, diversion!”

The shout comes from behind me. Without a second thought I spin, casting a spell that doubles my brother’s bulky body before his now befuddled foes. Each of the doppelgangers then splits into three more, and three more, until the group of ten Chitauri is surrounded by a small army of Thors, while my real brother, distinguishable only to me since the magical illusions are all cast in a pale green aura that only I can perceive, weaves nimbly through his twins, felling the monsters from whatever angle they least expect as each of them inevitably faces off roaring against a fake, thinking it to be the real one.

When the last of this group of enemies falls, Thor turns to me, lazily tossing Mjolnir up into the air, flipping it end over end a few times, and catching it again by the handle. “There are too many of them, brother.”

I concur. The force is endless, made up mostly of Chitauri; those snarling, flesh hungry war mongers whom I was forced to become all too familiar with, as well as the gigantic, hulking Grithashks, and a whole slew of other warrior types from all over the galaxy. Of the above I assume that the Chitauri and the Grithashks are here mostly of their own free will, or have been ordered here nevertheless willingly. The rest I take to be enslaved by either the bonds of indentured servitude, class systems, or the Mind Stone’s power. I do not believe that any but the most dull, dim witted creatures, or those only hungry for blood, pain, and destruction would follow Thanos so blindly through his mad quest of universal conquest. Which certainly explains the Chitauri's presence…

“And the Titan has not yet even shown his ugly face.” I say the thought aloud as it crosses my mind accompanied by a flash of suspicion. Why has the Titan not yet shown himself? Perhaps he simply lets his forces do the dirty work since he must know that Asgard will never willingly bow to him, so he is eliminating two tasks in the guise of one; felling Asgard and winning his convoluted game with me.

It sounds mad enough to be a plan that stemmed from his power warped mind.

“We will be hard pressed to win this without help.” Despite his lax attitude I can hear the true worry betrayed in Thor’s voice and eyes.

“Are you doubting your strength, brother?” I ask mockingly, remembering a time when such a notion suggested would have gotten _me_ whacked with Mjolnir for even suggesting something so; in Thor’s mind, preposterous and shameful.

“Not mine,” he says pompously, bringing back a hundred memories and more of similar bombastic dictums pronounced by his tongue. “But perhaps our armies… Where do you suppose Mother is? The force field has not opened to admit new enemies in a while. I fear it might soon break…”

He looks up, prompting my own head to turn in the same direction to see that he is right. Purple crackles of light emanate from random places in the protective shield clearly showing that whatever technology Thanos is employing to attempt to get through Asgard's primary defences is slowly but surely working.

I am distracted by the whirling of Thor’s red cape before my eyes as he spins with admirable sure footedness for one so large, around me, felling an attacker that had it out for my face. I repay the favour by blasting a second and third out of the sky where they had been setting upon his broad back as it turned stood away from them.

“If the entire mass of them descends at once we will be lost.” Thor prophesises, looking worried both for our collective fates, but also for that of his mother, who’s absence is damning. Cold washes through me as I realize in a flash what else her absence means. Annie!

My eyes flash up to the castle’s tallest spire where I knew them to have holed up in the room of the Orb, but I can barely even make out the little lopsided window through the haze of dust that clogs the air.

My eyes then shift down to the castle’s left outermost spire, and what I know to lie hidden there. My jaw clenches hard. I had not intended to use it for this battle, but given the predicament of the unknown whereabouts of our foremost protector and more pressingly: my little love, I start to see no alternative. “Perhaps not.” I say, turning back to Thor. Years of practice at having to hide my deepest emotions from my brother for fear of being mocked and belittled come into play, hiding the full extent of my fear from him, though a part of me cannot help but feel that he sees right through me anyway, as only a sibling could.

I know my eyes glow with some maniacal light as I see his expression darken, brows pulling together. “Loki!” he rumbles in that disapproving tone he has copied from his father, that I heard throughout my childhood almost as much and as often in his voice as I heard it in Odin’s. “What have you done now?”

A mirthless smile twists my lips. “Nothing yet.” I look back to the castle. I need to end this. If Annie is in danger it needs to end sooner rather than later. No matter the cost. No matter that it might rend me apart. I would gladly tear myself to pieces for her right now if it meant her eternal safety. But it does not and so I must do what none before has ever done or dared to do for fear of the unknown consequences.

I turn back to Thor. “Stall. If Odin asks my whereabouts tell him you know them not.”

Thor’s large ham like hand closes around my upper arm. Blindly he punches a Chitauri assailant approaching from the side, knocking it flat in one blow. “What do you plan?”

“Madness.” I say simply, lifting my chin in the face of his imperious glower.

“Loki!”

“Thor–” I break off in my almost tirade that wants to mock him angrily for once more assuming the role of my parent rather than my sibling, as he is. But perhaps this goes both ways?! Perhaps he needs me to speak to him as his sibling as well, instead of a bratty child as I am wont to do when he becomes like this. “Trust me, brother.”

He stills, hand still tight about my arm, fingers squeezing harder, as his sky blue eyes bore into mine with an intensity I have not seen for a hundred years or more. No; I realize. No, that is not true. I did see it recently. I saw it when he plucked my brainwashed carcass from that clunky, primitive flight device the Midgardians called a _Quinjet_ and threw me into the dirt. When he picked me up by the front of my shirt and stared into my eyes it was with this look. He was searching for a sign, a facsimile of the brother he remembered. But that brother was not present; buried beneath layers of pain, a mind in the possession and control of another, and a strange women’s voice. He had not seen what he wanted. He had seen eyes; empty, insane, and blue, filled with a hatered I _did_ feel, but magnified a thousand fold beyond thoughtless insanity by the Mind Stone’s power.

With this realization I let the mask drop from my face. That mask I so often wear before my family. That mask that I have never felt comfortable lowering for anyone, not even my mother. Anyone but Annie. And the image of her, and my fear and determination to keep her safe is what now gives me the strength to show Thor my conviction, my worry, and my determination. I show him that while trickery and chaos may still be my chief motivators I hold no intentions of betraying him or Asgard. I show him that while my interests may still be largely self serving, protecting my heart is now my main focus; not my hide. And in protecting my heart is included first and foremost the little human who owns the organ, but also this realm, this family that I believed lost to me but have started to regain, and a life I once willingly threw away. I show him that while I am selfish, I am not as selfish as he has believed for years; as I, myself have led him to believe for those same years.

His eyes narrow, and his already expansive shoulders expand further on a deep breath. Then he nods, and slaps me hard on the back. “Do what you must, but assure me, brother, that you do not intend to start Ragnarök.” He says gruffly, with a meager attempt at humor.

To my own great surprise his trust in me means more than I could put into words even to myself, and as a means to distract myself from the sudden feelings of mushiness deep within me I smile crookedly to his rather feeble jest and reply, “Not today, brother.”

I back away and cannot help but turn back with an even larger grin and proclaim “Something worse.”

Then I turn and allow myself to be swallowed up by the bodies twisting and writhing in the macabre dance to the death that only war can teach.

It takes longer than by rights it should have but I finally manage to make my way to the castle and inside. There I am unpleasantly surprised to find that some of Thanos’ monsters have managed to drag their ugly carcasses past our guards; Bor knows how.

The discovery of this fact only ratchets up my worry for Annie, knowing that they might be that much closer to her. In my state of fear I already start to head for the Room of the Orb before I remember that she will not be there. This explains their absence though. Likely my mother will have sensed the intruders and moved herself and Annie to a safer location. If Annie were not with her I do not doubt that she would have kept herself essentially cornered to keep the Chitauri from the force field, putting herself in great, unnecessary danger to do so.

Clearly I have not inherited my mother’s selfless tendencies.

I turn about face and head towards the left most end of the castle, bottom level. Along the way I encounter a greater number of Chitauri and Grithashks than I would have wanted. Seems the infestation in the castle is greater than I thought. At least every one of them that I find and subsequently cut down is preoccupied with prizing the art from the walls, and searching individual rooms for treasures to fill their own pockets, and most of them are alone, or in small groups of two or three as they plunder, pilfer, and loot our riches.

Parasites!

But then I happen upon a group of ten Grithashks; a group I would have naturally avoided given their size, and my current mission. However in a dastardly twist of fate, we walked right into one another.

I allow a slow, lazy smile to cross my face as I draw my sword while letting magic flow from my hands into the blade, which begins to glow with a muted green light from within the ancient forged metal.

Remembering a line from a film Annie had me watch barely fortnights ago I sink into a crouch, raising my sword. “Yippee ki-yay, motherfuckers!” I snarl, my teeth bared in a feral smile, as that feeling of battle bloodlust reignites my body once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasnt originally planning to have a Loki POV chapter here but I kinda figured it was needed to show what's happening in the thick of things. Seems like I'm stalling though, doesn't it, to ratchet up the suspense of what happened to Frigga... I'm so mean! Buuut I'm definetly out of my writers block here so a new update should be occurring shortly. Like monday I hope.  
> Also the chitauri are obviously marvel canon. The other monsters I made up. I picture them as like large troll like things. I wrote a detailed description in the next chapter which was originally supposed to be this one before I was inspired.  
> Aaand I just couldnt resist having Loki say yippee ki-yay motherfuckers. Lol. So there.  
> Anyway I gave you another cliffhanger-ish chapter so I'm sorry. (Or am I?!) Please dont yell at me! 💕💕💕


	62. Ego

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously I lied when i said new chapter on monday. But isnt it still Monday? Mondesday... close enough.  
> Lots of stuff happening here as we near the final conflict. Dun dun dunnn...  
> TRIGGER WARNING for more blood and guts and all that battle stuff. Also some angst.  
> Buuut we finally get some inkling of what Loki's plan might be.  
> Foreshadowing.  
> Oooh!

I feel like I’ve been tripping through this darkness forever. I’m not worried that I’m going the wrong way because the glow in my heart (or is it my soul?) is telling me that I’m 100% going the right way, but still, stumbling through pitch blackness with nothing but your dark thoughts to keep you company is disheartening.

Even though I try not to, I keep thinking about Frigga. I try to convince myself that she’s fine, but with every step I take, every second that passes it becomes harder. More than once I just want to stop, to just collapse here on the dusty stone floor and cry forever and ever and ever because t least I’d be safe here… secret passage and all that. But Frigga told me to find Loki and if that’s going to be her last instructions that she ever gives, then I’m going to damn well do what she told me to!

And so I shuffle through the darkness, one hand still on the wall, one outstretched in front of me, with no idea where I’m actually going, only knowing that I’m heading toward Loki, in whatever roundabout way, which is all that matters!

When the hand that I’ve stretched out in front of me unexpectedly touches something soft I almost let go a shriek of shock. I press my hand to my mouth just in time to muffle the sound that does escape, becoming belatedly aware that I can hear a clanging of swords and bodies colliding somewhere close by. I inch forward, feeling along the soft barrier, my fingers impacted with what I realise has to be another wall carpet or tapestry, which probably means that I’ve reached the end of this secret passage.

Belatedly I also notice that the warm glow inside me seems to have multiplied by a hundred and concentrated into a roaring inferno, albeit a comfortable one, which I assume signifies that I am close to Loki. I’m pretty sure that if I step out into the hallway right now it’ll be him that’s fighting out there.

I peer around the edge of the tapestry. And yes, I was right. He’s there, locked in bitter combat with four of the monsters. At least ten more lie littered around the scene, obviously slain by his hands. I realise absently that these aren’t like the monsters I saw with him way back when I watched the videos and news reels of his attack on New York. They’re not the slimy, skeletal, kind of beetle/bug like, huge jawed monsters. These things are ginormous, at least a head bigger than Loki, twice as wide, and almost troll like in appearance with protruding lower jaws, and dull but still brutal looking fangs jutting up from their under-bite. Their eyes are small and set deep into their skulls but their bodies still look vaguely human, albeit bigger and with body builder frames. As if their size and girth wouldn’t make them scary enough, the sounds that emit from their throats make me cower back behind the tapestry in fright. They emit a series of grunts, and roars of rage, and it’s not hard to surmise that the only thing on their minds; and probably never far from their minds, is killing.

Because I desperately want to help, but also because I obviously can’t; I think Loki would quite gladly kill me himself if I tried to idiotically get in the middle of this and put myself in such foolish danger, I turn my thoughts to something less intimidating than these hulking beasts that bear down on Loki: his fighting style. He’s incredible. He fights without wasting motion and he fights extremely close range. His hands move in a series of precisely calculated attacks all while he’s busy multitasking by casting spells that make the air around him crackle with static. His sword flashes, silver streaks through the air, cutting the scene into slivers, his hands glow with green magic. His face front at all contorted with any signs of effort or strain; remained emotionless and cool. You’d think he were making a cup of tea instead of fighting to the death in a match where he's unarguably outnumbered. But not outmatched, I realize. I knew he was a good fighter with weapons, but now that he’s got magic in the mix he’s nigh unstoppable

As I watch, hidden, his sword slices diagonally across the chest of one of the monsters who goes down with a howl. Loki hops nimbly over the prone body, now only facing three more.

I know what’s about to happen almost as if it’s a scene from a movie I’ve watched before. The monster he just felled isn’t dead yet. At least not completely. Loki dealt it a fatal blow but it hasn’t done it’s job and killed the vile thing. And as I watch, and as Loki slays a second by sending a knife that he pulled from nowhere to bury itself down to the hilt in its chest, right where I’d expect a heart to be, the one that fell moments before is dragging itself up to its knees behind him.

The two remaining ones see it and they distract Loki, apparently putting their all and everything into fighting him even though they must know by now that they can’t beat him. At least not in a fair fight; instead they’re counting on their comrade dragging himself up behind him to take Loki out by quite literally stabbing him in the back.

My feet move on their own accord. I don’t consider the danger I’m putting myself in, the fact that each of these beings before me could kill me probably with the strength in their pinky finger; Loki included. But I see that he’s in danger and my mind forgets all sense of self preservation it ever possessed. My body crouches close to the floor, staying out of sight of the two remaining monsters, counting on their distraction by the fight and their injured friend’s broad back to hide me from view. I pick up one of the swords of one of the previously fallen monsters that lies in my path. The blade is bloodstained, silver glinting with scarlet. The thing is a lot bigger and heavier than I expect it to be, and when I lift it I almost drop it. I manage to save it and keep on making my way closer to the monster who is lifting its sword up high over Loki’s exposed back, slowly; either too injured to move faster, or else wanting to savour the moment.

The other two still haven’t noticed me, too grimly focused on keeping Loki relatively in one place and facing them, so he won’t notice the attacker behind him. I copy the monster, lifting the sword through I don’t lift it above my head like it does because I’d probably wind up dropping it. I heft it to around shoulder height, then just as the tip of the monster’s sword starts to fall towards Loki’s unprotected back, I scream and lunge forward, putting all of my weight and power behind the thrust, driving the heavy sword at an upwards angle through the monster’s chest.

Time slows. I can feel the sword, the heft, the cut, the balance of it; slipping through the monsters leather armour like it’s butter and the sword is white hot. I can tell the moment it is through clothing and hits flesh. I can feel the reverberating impact juddering with earthquake force through my arms as it glances off something hard within; a bone, presumably a rib. But my strike was strong, my aim was true, because the sword keeps right on going, slicing through the monster like scissors through paper. It’s soundless. And even though the monster itself roars in pain, I can hear the sharp tearing sound of fabric as the sword rips out of the front of its chest, the same time as blood starts to seep out the back of the hole I made, running down the blade of the sword in fast rivulets, over my hands to drip crimson down onto the floor at my braced apart feet.

My blow made the monster’s own strike skew wildly, missing Loki by barely an inch. The monster’s sword clatters to the ground as it falls forward at the same time that Loki moves, ducking under the arm of another monster that reaches for him, leveraging its considerably greater weight and throwing it over his shoulder and onto it’s back. He pulls another dagger out of thin air and swiftly slices the throat of the last monster, then sends a bolt of magic through the chest of the one he just threw to the floor, leaving a ragged hole, ten centimeters in diameter, that smolders greenly around the edges and has charred the marble floor beneath.

The monster I killed crashes down beside it, making the ground shake beneath my feet. I’m left standing there somewhat forlornly with the giant sword in my hands, suddenly too heavy to hold aloft, its tip falling with a clang to the floor, the pommel remaining in my white-knuckled death grip.

Loki’s eyes find mine, burning with a fire as I’ve never seen it before. It’s the fire of battle, I realize. A kind of subdued bloodlust that comes not from a desire or passion for killing, but from the necessity of it, the adrenaline required. For a split second it almost scares me. And for an even shorter amount of time I feel it too. I don’t know if I’m feeling his emotions across this newly opened connection spanning between our souls or if this emotion stems from my own adrenaline heart, that knows that I just killed something… someone? Something?

Loki draws me out of my distraction. “My mother? Is she dead?” he asks, voice hard as granite.

I swallow hard and close my eyes, tears spilling out suddenly to race down my cheeks. “I don’t know…” I gulp out.

When I open my eyes to look at Loki through my spiky, wet lashes hes looking down at the monster at my feet with an expression that freezes my blood. Please, god, oh please, don’t ever let him look at me like that! With that much hatred, and contempt, and disgust.

He looks up. His features smooth as he holds his hand out to me. I stumble towards him, tripping over the monster’s legs that lie in my way. He pulls me into his side, lips landing atop my head. “Do not worry about my mother. She is tougher than she looks. I have seen her put even my brother flat on his arse.”

“Really?”

“He was fighting without Mjolnir, granted. But none of these despicable creatures have weapons of the hammer’s caliber either. She shall be fine!” he says it as if convincing himself as much as me. Then he tips my chin up with his forefinger and smiles down at me, though I can see the shadows warring in his eyes. “You saved my life.”

“I’m sure you’ll return the favour many, many more times today.” I say dryly, still fighting done my grief and worry about Frigga’s fate. This is combined with the fact that I am at present literally surrounding by death, one of whose blood is on my hands. Literally. But it won’t help anyone though if I freak out now.

“Though it was foolish of you to put yourself at this risk!” he reprimands me sternly, his eyes narrowing slightly with intensity. And even as I feel his anger and fear playing across my heartstrings, I can feel his relief at having me near, and his awe, wonder, and respect for what I just did for him.

I'm about to make some reply when loud clanging noises begin to emanate from down the hall. Loki’s head swings toward the sound and he grabs my upper arm, towing me swiftly behind him, ducking behind the very same tapestry that I just emerged from. Clearly he knows about the secret passage. Inside he stands pressed against the wall, holding one finger against his lips, cautioning silence. I stand there, still clutching the sword, watching him with wide eyes as he carefully peers around the edge of the tapestry.

He holds up three fingers to me to indicate the number of foes. I can hear them outside, clattering around and communicating in their strange grunting language as they see their fallen comrades. Loki takes my hand and pulls me off down the secret passageway, a handful of green fire lighting our way. I know that normally he would have engaged the fresh foes, but now that I’m with him his first instinct is protecting me.

He leads me back the way I came but then, out of seemingly nowhere, stops in front of a blank expanse of brick wall. He must sense my questioning gaze because he looks sideways at me and winks ever so slightly. His palms press flat to the stones and slowly start to slide over them as if he were searching for something; a scratch or dent, or other irregularity. I watch him wide eyed, unsure what he’s doing, or trying to accomplish. What’s different about this stretch of wall? It looks exactly like every other stretch of wall I can see in the glow from his magic… But still he’s intent on his task, whatever it is… His lips move silently, green sparks shimmering on his fingertips. Suddenly he leans into the wall, pushing firmly with both hands. There’s a hollow clunk, and the wall moves inwards, then slides away to the side to reveal a secret passage within the secret passage.

“Well, shit…” I mutter which makes Loki chuckle. He grabs my hand again and pulls me into the passage which promptly closes behind us, plunging us into total darkness. I fumble for him, gripping onto his sleeve. There’s a soft hiss and then another green flame blooms in the blackness illuminating Loki’s face, casting it in an eerie Halloween-y glow.

He holds his handful of fire up high, searching my face with his eyes. “Are you alright?”

I nod slowly. “Are you?”

“A few scrapes and scratches.”

“What are you doing in here instead of outside where the actual battle is?”

“I am retrieving a… weapon of sorts.”

“Weapon?”

“Yes.”

“Will it help you win?”

He studies me for long moments. “Perhaps. Thanos has his own of course, but it might match us more evenly.”

“And where is this weapon?”

He smiles a slow smile, completely mirthless and almost evil looking. His eyes glitter in the green firelight. “Well hidden. Under my father’s very nose, in fact.”

“Wait, Odin doesn’t know it’s here? Whatever it is?”

“He does not. One of my better kept secrets, if I do say so myself.”

“Man, you take that God of Secrets thing very seriously!”

He grins for a split second then leans closer. “My turn. How did you find me?”

“Oh. Your… mom told me a theory about how soulmates are able to feel each other if they only focus enough. Like that connection we have could always be open if we knew how to use it. I don’t really know what she did but she touched me with her magic and it’s like she cleared away some sort of mental blockage that prevented me from being able to feel you before because now I can. Feel you, I mean… Like I know where you are, I can… not hear you, like your voice or you moving around. But I can _hear_ you. Like your soul. I know where to find you. Not location wise. I can’t go like “Aha, he’s in the throne room at latitude 63.7 degrees,” or whatever. But if I had to chose the path that led to you at a crossroads I’d be able to pick it right every single time.”

Loki’s face becomes more and more intense as I keep talking, until his eyes are burning into mine, brighter than the flame in his hand.

“Do you… do you mind?” I ask shyly, suddenly remembering what a gross invasion of privacy this could be considered as.

“Do I mind?” his voice is incredulous. “Love, you are the marrow in my bones, the blood in my veins. You are the first thought on my mind upon awaking each morning , and the last before I fall asleep. You dominate my dreams and my life. You own my heart. You already live right inside of my soul. So what would this, which only brings us closer, possibly do to make me _mind?_ It is the most logical sounding phenomenon I think I have ever heard.”

I grab him by the front of his shirt and pull him into me. My lips smash against his as he falls into me in return, sandwiching me between his body and the wall. We kiss, lost and desperate for several minutes; or maybe it’s days, I can’t even tell. I don’t break the contact even when I become short of breath, which necessitates Loki to pull away first. “I will set the whole world aflame to keep you safe!” he says quietly, more to himself than to me, I think.

I reach up and take his face between my hands, rubbing away a small smear of blood that’s drying right between his eyebrows. Even though it’s only a small drop I’m still relieved when I see that it doesn’t come from a cut or scrape on his head, though parts of me go cold with the knowledge that another being died at his hands and flecked his face with this blood. “I don’t doubt it.” I say quietly. “But please don’t. This world of yours is too beautiful to burn. Set that big, ugly ship up there on fire instead.”

He huffs a small laugh, although the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Then he folds my hand into his and begins again to lead me down the _super_ secret corridor within the already secret corridor. I mean the levels of extra that whoever designed this castle must have been… just wow!

He leads me through the darkness and I follow with the same blind trust I’ve always had in him. I’m still holding the heavy sword in one hand. Loki doesn’t take it from me nor does he tell me to leave it, even though it’s next to useless in my hands. I mean the chances of me being able to pull of another ninja-esque sneak attack like I did earlier are pretty low. In fact I can’t even believe I managed to pull it off the first time. And I feel like once the adrenaline and fear wear off, the fact that I killed another being will still hit me over the head with all the weight of this exact sword…

But I’ll think about that later!

He leads me through the underbelly of the castle, telling me the histories of each of these dusty, cobwebbed, pitch black secret passages; who built them, why, for what purpose, and what else they have been used for since. He also tells me how he discovered them, and what sort of mischief they helped him to perpetuate all through his childhood; what hiding places they provided, what shortcuts for optimal pranking purposes. I think he keeps talking as a way to keep us both distracted from the present reality and it mostly works. Though Frigga’s unknown fate continues to linger darkly in the back of my mind…

When we finally emerge from the maze of secret tunnels, out from behind a painting that once again depicts Odin in battle glory, we’re in a part of the castle I’m still unfamiliar with. A quick glance out the nearby window shows the mountains and forests behind the city, thereby telling me that we’re in the back of the castle and facing away from the battle out front. Subdued screams, and the clanging of weapons still ring all the way back to us though.

“Come,” Loki says, gently pulling me by my hand down a flight of stairs that descends into yet more darkness. But as we walk torches spring on automatically at regular intervals, lighting our way. The fire burns with a blue tinge, casting our surroundings in cool, icy light.

I gasp as we reach the bottom of the staircase that slowly started to widen from a single file path into one wide enough for ten people to walk next to each other. The hall that spreads out before us is both wide and long. It looks like a museum showroom. Artifacts, and treasures stand at regular intervals, some on plinths and lit by floodlights, other half hidden in recessed niches in the wall, cast in shadow.

“Welcome to the Vault of Odin.” Loki says dryly, making me realise that these treasures; these museum showpieces, are in fact weapons. Each probably more powerful than my little human mind could comprehend. No matter how insignificant they may look. Like the large golden bowl of flames, or what appears to be a slab of engraved rock, or the book with the cover that’s stained in something dark red that looks horribly like blood but which I tell myself is just wine. Other things look more like you’d imagine alien treasure-weapons to look like: golden, glowing, huge, spiky. There’s spears and swords, carved with intricate patterns and letters, and inlaid with gleaming precious stones. There’s a gigantic metal glove that looks like the pair to the one that Thanos wears. There’s two glowing blue cubes, one with circular engraved patterns and handles, the other smaller but shining brighter, almost blindingly so. Loki stops in front of this for half a second then shakes his head briskly and pulls me onwards mumbling something about “not worth the risk”, and “Thanos will have a slot for that one in the Gauntlet, not the other”.

I don’t even ask.

He stops at the back of the hall/vault/gallery place, near a large, burnished gold object with a curved design and a dimly glowing pale green orb in the center, that looks kind of like an eye. But he pays this thing, whatever it is, no attention, instead crouching down to fiddle with the base of the plinth it stands on. I hear the shifting of rock and watch him remove one of the floor tiles, his fingers sparking with magic, indicating that he had to use a spell to remove the tile. The green light in his fingertips dies down as he reaches into the small hole at the base of the plinth, face scrunching up, looking absently the ceiling, as he gropes around for whatever is hidden down there.

“Aha.” He intones suddenly, his face curiously both lighting up and closing down at the same time.

He straightens up, hand closed tightly around something. Unconsciously I lean forward trying to see what it is he’s holding.

He looks at me and sees me craning my neck. He extends his hand out towards me and very slowly unfurls his fingers revealing what’s curled up between them.

Whatever it is, it floats about two centimeters above his palm. It looks like a speck of white light, a star fallen to the ground, its center so bright that it almost hurts to look at. In complete contrast to the slightly ominous and eerie green light Loki’s magic casts, this light is warm and makes him look like he has an almost angelic, ethereal kind of glow.

I lean forward with no intention to touch the strange object; my time in Asgard has taught me better than to touch magical objects that I have no knowledge of. I just want a closer look. It doesn’t look like a weapon…

“What is it?”

“An infinity Stone.” Loki answers softly.

My eyes widen and I jerk back as my mind is assaulted with memories and flashbacks of what the Titan did to me under the pretense of finding out what I knew of those things. Automatically my brain tells me that knowing of any of them now, even though I didn’t back then, will result in more pain and torture.

“Shhh.” Loki tucks the thing into his palm and reaches for me with the other hand. “You shall not be harmed by it.”

I swallow hard, moving into his side though I still strain slightly away from his other side which holds the thing in his fist, my eyes warily fixed on his clenched fingers. “What are you gonna do with it?”

His face becomes grim. “End him!”

“How?” I think back to what little I know about the Stones. “He has two, right? And he’s looking for the rest. How is one gonna help? And what if he takes it from you?”

“He will not.” Loki takes a deep breath then turns me fully to look at him, opening his hand once more to show me the glowing stone floating above his palm. I inch away from it, and he places his free arm around my shoulders, squeezing me reassuringly. “This is the seventh Infinity Stone–”

“Seventh?” I interrupt. “He said there were only six?!”

Loki nods. “As far as he and most of the universe knows. The six Infinity Stones recognized far and wide throughout the greater expanse of the universe as existing are the Space, Time, Soul, Mind, Power, and Reality stones. Thanos himself is in possession of Power and Reality and once also had Space and Mind within his grasp, before I liberated him off their burdens, which of course brought this whole mess descending on our heads now.” He pauses briefly, his expression warring between grim satisfaction and regret. Then he continues. “But this, the seventh stone is a myth; a fable; an old wives tale of wishful thinking told by those who wish to possess the original six, but find themselves unable of locating them, unworthy of possessing them, or too weak to wield all. The legends say it was forged by the egotistical desires of people throughout history wishing to posses and collect the stones for some self serving reason or another in the pursuit of power. And it is so, fittingly, dubbed the Ego Stone.”

His face takes on a far away look as he speaks, cast in that heavenly white light and looking innocent, vulnerable, and deeply sad as he recounts this history for me.

“I came across it many, many years ago, quite by accident, before I even knew of the myth of its existence, or even of the existence and significance of the other stones. Thor and I were sent to retrieve some other treasure and came across another searching for the same items; or so we thought. We became separated and by either fate or wicked design I found the other, by the name of Xäbar the Demolisher, in a room before a great mirror, attempting through dark magic to seemingly extract something from _within_ the mirror.”

I’m watching his face as he talks softly and unhurriedly, though with some strange infliction of memory in his tone. I have to wonder if now is really the best time to talk about this, what with a battle raging outside, but I can sense the importance of Loki’s retelling of this tale to me, probably because he’s never actually told anyone. And, because he’s done it for me ever since I first stumbled across his cell, I put the entire world on hold for him because he needs me to do so. It’s what we do for each other; what we’ve always done for each other.

“I tried to fight him, but he was stronger than I, and overpowered me. I was still quite young and not nearly as experienced with magic as I am today. In fact it was my first proper mission of retrieval with my brother that bore a chance of true danger, so he had strictest instructions never to let me out of his sights. Though I do not blame him; he did not squander with me and truly could not have helped taking his eyes off me. In any case Xäbar thrust me in front of the mirror and asked me what I saw. I saw myself. I was confused thinking it a reflection until my counterpart in the stained, cracked glass lifted his hand. Within it he held this. He winked at me and tucked it into his pocket. And as he did I felt the weight of it land in mine. It was most extraordinary. At this moment Thor burst into the room with the Warriors Three and their combined might was enough to subdue Xäbar. We left. Upon our return Thor received a tongue lashing from our mother for letting me out of his sight, Odin got new treasure for his ever expanding collection, new weapons to add to his arsenal, as well as a new prisoner, and I had this…”

He looks down at it then, curling his fingers into his palm slightly to make the floating stone twirl about itself slowly.

I watch its spinning process and ask quietly. “How did you manage to get it?”

He looks up at me, reaching over to tuck some of my hair behind my ear. “I spent many years researching what transpired. I never truly figured it out, or even had a grounds based hypothesis until you came along.”

“Me?”

He smiles. “Yes. I discovered that the mirror in the room was called _Skuggsjá ór Længæ._ Which translates roughly to the Mirror of Longing. My research told me that the mirror shows the viewer’s reflection while also showing them what their heart truly desires.”

“Like the Mirror of Erised?”

“Yes.” Loki nods. “Like the mirror in the book you once brought me. Perhaps the author drew inspiration from Norse mythology… I do not know; but the two objects are strangely similar. And it was from this book too that I surmised my theory. The stone was hidden inside the mirror the whole time; a fitting place, I think, given its name and the implication of egocentricity tied to regarding one’s reflection in a looking glass. Only one who wished to find the stone– find it, but not use it– would be able to retrieve it.”

I blink up at him, fascinated by the fact that he’s basically lived one of the more iconic chapters from _Harry Potter_ and wondering inanely if this means that Dumbledore has been real this whole time?! “But then how did you get it?” it occurs to me suddenly to ask. “You said you didn’t know that the stone existed so it couldn’t have been your heart’s desire to find it.”

“I have not figured this out yet. Perhaps it came from my desire to prove myself to my father and the discovery of such a treasure; not only the physical discovery, but the proof that it even existed, might have helped me to do so… I truly cannot say. But if this were the case I never acted upon this desire for I never told anyone I had found the stone. I kept it hidden within my chambers until I discovered what it was. When I did, I immediately moved it down here into the vault as it is the safest place as well as the least conspicuous to house an object of such power, where it may remain dormant. There are many stories surrounding the Ego Gem, most of which sound too much like hearsay and false information. But no one truly knows if they are… All I was able to glean for sure from my research and from the few tentative magical searching spells I cast on the object, was that it is powerful. Legend says it is the most powerful of all the Infinity Stones and that it has the ability to suppress or negate the powers of any and all the others, even when combined. One account even stated that this single gem alone is stronger than all other six used together. I do not know how much of this is true. All I know is that Thanos has two Infinity Stones. I have one. Even if all the legends are false and this stone is not some great paradigm of power it will still be at least as strong as one of the other six, and it will help match me somewhat more evenly with the Titan.”

I nod, the reality of our situation flooding back in. It was so easy to forget, even down here in this vault surrounded by probably arguably the most powerful weapons in the _universe,_ that there’s a war being waged just a few floors above us. And that apparently everything hinges on the power (or potential lack thereof) of the stone Loki now holds in his hand, which is still slowly revolving about its own axis centimeters above his palm.

“What if it doesn’t work?” I’m almost too afraid to ask.

“Then we are no worse off than we were if we did not have this…” Loki says softly and brutally honest, and I’m both scared by the honesty of his pronouncement as well as grateful for it.

“The number of the Titan's army is huge; much larger than we anticipated. Without my mother manning the force field it will soon give way, and when it does and every last of Thanos’ disciples descends we shall be outnumbered ten to one. If then the Titan also joins the fray with his two Infinity Stones in tow we might as well surrender outright. But if we were to have a weapon of greater or equal strength in the hands of someone of perhaps different, yet equal skill regardless, we might still stand a fighting chance.”

I nod. “I believe you. I believe _in_ you. If there’s anyone who could still win this, it’s you. You’re angry enough about what he did, and you’re strong enough too. If this thing works I have no doubt that you’ll be able to shove it up that great purple ass!” I say, both as a reassuring pep talk for Loki, because I truly do believe in him, but also to calm myself because this constitutes my worst nightmare. If he does this he’ll have to go head to head with Thanos. Face of with him one-on-one; exactly what I told him to avoid earlier because it’s what frightens me most of all: Loki within grabbing distance of the Titan.

My worry obviously shows on my face because Loki takes gentle hold of it, after pocketing the stone, and tilts it upward, pressing his forehead to mine.

“Tell me everything will be alright.” I beg him in an whisper, my hands coming up to close in a death grip around his wrists.

“I can’t.” He says quietly, his voice wobbling. “I promised never to lie to you.”

I give a soft, dry sob because I once again can’t muster up any tears, and clutch on to him even tighter.

“I _want_ to tell you that we shall be fine, but I cannot know. But I can tell you with absolute surety that I will do all in my power to make it so. And I will keep you safe at any and all costs! This I vow to you, my love!”

He pushes me slightly away from him to look at my face. Helpless I can’t do anything but nod at him. This is all there is to it. I need to put my faith in him, and hope that it, plus his convictions, are strong enough!

His eyes grow unbearably soft. “If I stepped before the Mirror of Longing today, I would see you reflected back at me…”

“Same.” I whisper as a single tear spills from my eye and rolls slowly down my cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayyyyy, so lots of things: the ego stone. It does exist in marvel comics though its powers aren't what I've made them. Basically as I understand it when combined with the other six stones it summons an entity called Nemesis who's basically all the stones personified. Loki actually summoned her once in the comics which is kinda cool. But as far as I understand it the ego stone by itself is basically useless, it needs the other six to work. That seemed way too complicated here, and also I didnt particularly want to include/introduce another super complex character this late in the story (have I mentioned that we're almost done? Aaah!) so I just changed the power of what the ego stone does. Canon? Pffff, what's that?! Its FANFICTION, Clarice. Lol. And as I've said before, I do what I want!  
> I hope I havent pissed off any comic fans with my changes though. Not my intent. Just trying to keep an already complicated story from spiralling into complete and utter madness.  
> Also I've seen info on the ego stone being either gold or white. I made it white even though most things say its gold. But we already have a yellow and an orange infinity stone so... variety peoples!  
> Anyway. That's that. I hope this chapter gave some more hope in what I may have painted as a pretty bleak outlook. Aaand still no word on Frigga's fate. I'm so mean. Is she alive? Is she dead? Who knows. Spoiler alert: I do! Mahaha.  
> Ok. That's that. See you soon.  
> Thanks endlessly for reading!


	63. War Torn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS for fear, panic attacks, war, death, blood. Still war.  
> So FINALLY a new chapter. Aaand it's a long one. At first I had it shorter but then I thought I'll be nice and give you what I basically had planned as two because I made you wait so long.   
> Still not super confident in my ability (or lack thereof) to write action. I think I rush too much. But eh...  
> Anyway. Enjoy. I hope.

  
“So now what?” I ask as we make our way back through the secret passageways, hand in hand. My grip becomes progressively tighter and tighter with each step we take because I know that each meter we walk brings us closer to renewed separation. And this time Loki is setting out to face the Titan directly, which adds a whole new level of threat that wasn’t there earlier.

He stops at my question and spins me around to face him. “Now I am taking you to a safe room where you shall wait out the remainder of the battle. I shall ward the doors so none but myself can get in. Or out.” He says the last with a slanted eyebrow in my direction, telling me that that the “or out" part is entirely for my benefit. He knows me too damn well!

I sigh resignedly. Even though part of my mind is already concocting convoluted escape attempts I know that it’s stupid, and reckless, and pointless. I’m not going to be able to help. I physically cannot, simply because of my human anatomy. Disregarding all other factors like the one that I’m at best a hot mess. So I am just going to twiddle my thumbs and wait. Didn’t I swear to myself once that I wasn’t going to be a sitting duck anymore?

Loki pulls me into his chest. “I know you wish to be by my side.” He murmurs into my hair. “But this battle is not for the likes of humans. You have proven yourself already, my love, today, in ways I could never have imagined. Many an Asgardian cannot tell tales of having successfully slain a Grithashk. Some even consider it a rite of passage.” He smiles down at me, his face a forced mask of comfort. “I will come for you once it is all over.”

He’s back to that false confidence and bravado meant to calm me. I don’t consider it a lie because I know why he’s doing it: to reassure himself, but mostly me. Same as I’ve been doing.

And so instead of arguing I curl myself around him and let him hold me tightly, closing my eyes and imagining for just a minute that we’re somewhere peaceful, where we can hug without fear of being interrupted by pesky things such as war, or impending death. Like back in the cellblock. The thought intrudes before I can stop it, but now that it’s there I can’t shake it. I never thought I’d ever wish we were back there, but it’s honestly preferable to this…

Though I’m not sure Loki would agree!

My own selfishness swamps me, that I’d rather have Loki locked up again indefinitely than have him face off with (hopefully) a fighting chance against the one on who’s account he was locked up in the first place. I’m no better than Thanos if I want to steal his freedom too!

Loki pushes me back, studying my face closely with an intense frown creasing his lips, his forehead, and the space between his eyebrows. I understand what’s confounding him. He’s picking up on my feelings of selfish inadequacy but doesn’t understand where they’re coming from or what could be warranting them.

I look back and shake my head slightly, to both dislodge the thoughts from them and to show him that there’s nothing to worry about.

He stares at me for a few more seconds then draws me closer to fiercely kiss my forehead, dropping the issue, probably chalking it up to the crazy myriad of emotions evoked by this day.

I follow him down a few more hallways, trying to imprint the feeling of his hand in mine into my brain forever, just in case I never get to feel it again…

I’m in the midst of memorizing the weight, the temperature and the way his long fingers curl around mine, when suddenly there’s a hard yank on my arm that feels like it almost dislocated my shoulder, and I’m being whirled through the air to smash back first into the wall.

My heart is in my throat as I expect to look up and see monsters towering over me and Loki broken on the floor behind them. But it’s his face that hovers above me, his body right up against mine in this little recessed niche in the wall behind a large rather ugly, barf-green urn/vase thing. His finger is pressed to his lips in a warming for silence. His eyes sparkle with pure, undiluted fury.

He turns away from me, crouching down slightly in an undeniably protective stance in front of me.

I have no idea what he’s seen or heard or sensed because I hear nothing, not even the very obvious clanking of swords and armor that announces a monsters’ approach.

But then…

My body knows who’s out there before my brain can catch up. My mouth goes dry, my hands go cold. Sweat breaks out across my forehead. My knees go weak, and if I hadn’t been pressed up against the wall I might have collapsed then and there. I actually feel myself sinking a few inches down, my back scraping over the rough stone. My entire body starts to shiver violently as my ears finally pick up what Loki’s did long before mine. That telltale slithering of a long cloak over the floor, as its wearer creepily floats along the stone hallway.

The Dementor. He’s here. Everything, every single thing that I suffered at his slimy dead hands comes flooding back into my brain. It feels like it was yesterday. Which it basically was… I remember how much he enjoyed torturing me, how he viewed me as something less than him, something not worth respect or the consideration of kindness. Not even like a living being…

I think I might puke!

My hand fists in the back of Loki’s cloak, unconsciously. Needing him.

But suddenly I’m holding his cloak in my hand and he’s gone. The panic overwhelms me. He’s gone! He’s left me. My vision blurs.

But then I hear the scuffling and my panic simultaneously recedes and builds. It recedes because he hasn’t left me, he’s gone to fight the Dementor. It builds because _he’s fighting the Dementor!_

I can’t help myself, I peek around the plinth to see the silent battle waging out there. It’s not really a battle. Loki is dominating easily, a snarling grimace on his face that could almost pass for a feral smile. The Dementor of course is wearing its hood and making hissing and rattling noises not unlike a disturbed rattlesnake. But whatever he’s doing is no match for Loki’s anger, and he soon has the creature overwhelmed.

I watch it in slow motion as his arms lock around the Dementor’s throat from behind, easily restraining it. The hood slips. My eyes widen. It’s human! Or at least it once was. The face beneath the hood looks zombified, grey and slimy, milky white eyes and chapped dry lips, but the features are undeniably human. No wonder he had such contempt for me; he’s just like me, and he clearly doesn’t want to be. Which is probably why he made some sort of pact for immortality or whatever, but it backfired turning him into this zombie abomination. Or maybe he was tricked. I mean it is eternal life, isn’t it, being a zombie?! Technically…

Somehow, strangely, this knowledge takes my fear with it too. I still wouldn’t want to be alone in the same room with this… _thing,_ but I no longer feel like I’m about to collapse and combust in panic.

My eyes find Loki’s to see them flaring with hate fueled fire. The muscles in his arms flex threateningly.

“Wait!” I cry out when I see them tensing. He halts, his wild eyes finding mine. I dart forwards towards the Dementor struggling feebly in Loki’s tight, magical grip. I reach into the right pocket, fumbling around, hoping… desperately…

There!

“I’ll have that back!” I say as I pull my necklace out by its thin, snapped chain. The Dementor hisses indignantly.

I rear back and kick him as hard as I can in the shin. I would have gone for the nuts but honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if this zombie-thing was junk-less, and shins are always a classic. “Bitch!” I snarl holding my necklace tight, then I nod at Loki.

His grip tightens, hands glowing in green magic, then with a violent gesture of his arms, he snaps the Dementor’s neck. The crack reverberates satisfyingly through the deserted stone hallway.

Loki looks at me and I can see that he’s weary about the fact that I just watched him kill someone basically defenseless and in cold blood, and is afraid that I will be freaked out by it. I’m surprisingly unbothered.

He discards the body to the side, then, almost as if he’s wiping off blood, even though there is none, he scrapes his hands over his pants as if scrubbing off the invisible tang of death. I move back to his side holding out my necklace. “Can you put that back in its rightful place for me?”

“Of course, love.” His voice is so cautious, still unsure that I won’t still freak out. But I won’t. Just like he didn’t. He watched me kill earlier too and he had no adverse reaction. Why would I to him killing a being that enjoyed torturing me? I wish I’d been the one to kill it!

As Loki refastens my necklace around my neck, fixing the broken link with magic, I can only assume, I wonder if all of this will still catch up to me once this is over… Or if I’ll have other things to grieve by then. Like Loki’s death… No! Don’t go there!

We wind up in a room at the opposite end of the castle to Odin’s vault. It’s a relatively small room with a low hanging ceiling, warped wood floors, and no windows, a fact for which I’m both bummed and grateful. I want to know what’s going on, but at the same time I don’t want to watch the horror, because I know I’d watch if I could, no matter how scary, macabre, and bloody it might be.

The room itself is tiny for Asgardian standards though it’s still bigger than my childhood bedroom. It’s filled with hundreds upon hundreds of filing cabinets. Inch thick dust coats every available surface.

“What is this place?” I ask, dragging a finger through the dust, sending motes swirling wildly.

“Archives and records room.” Loki answers absently. “I do not think anyone has entered it since before you were born.”

“Looks like it.” I turn to him and just catch the expression on his face before he schools it back to smooth calm. It was desperate, showing every particle of the love he feels for me, his grief, worry, and fear, his determination to come back to me, the guilt that’s ripping him apart because he thinks that all of this is his fault, and even more guilt because he’s leaving me here alone again.

He still doesn’t quite comprehend that he doesn’t need to hide his emotions behind that mask because I can feel them all through this newfound link between my soul and his. I knew how he felt even before I saw his feelings playing over his face.

“Loki…” I choke out.

He comes to me, pulling me up tight against him, cupping my face between his palms. Tears glisten in his eyes. “If I do not come back…” he starts.

I shake my head wildly. “Don’t. Don’t say it! I can’t handle it.”

He swallows hard, leaning down, pressing his forehead to mine. “Be safe. I cannot exist without you.”

“Me neither!” I whisper, my hands curling into fists in the fabric of his cloak, holding him to me, thinking that currently the chances of me having to go on to live without him are infinitely greater than him having to go on without me, as long as I stay ensconced in this room.

“Whatever…” he takes a deep shaking breath. I can hear the tears clogging his voice. “Whatever happens I do not regret a moment of our time together. Not one! Whatever the outcome I would do it all over again.”

“Me too!” I choke out. “But we’ll be fine. We’re gonna get on each other’s nerves for a long, long time to come yet.”

He nods repeatedly. “Yes.”

Then we just stand in silence for a while, hands clutching desperately, bodies molded together, and I wish more than ever that I could just let him absorb me, carry me right next to his heart and take me with him.

“You already are here in my heart, my love.” Loki whispers.

I wonder if maybe I said that out loud or if he broke his self imposed promise to never read my mind, but either way it doesn’t really matter right now.

He kisses me. Long and slow, the salt of our combined tears permeating the kiss. I refuse to think that this might be the last time I ever kiss him. I just do because if it _is_ the last time then I want to remember it for something other than _the last time._ I want to remember the love I can feel pouring from him into me through our moving mouths. I want to remember how he as always gently dominates and takes control, while also submitting to me and giving me all the control of drawing back or slowing down. I want to remember how he tastes, how he smells, how he feels in my arms and in my heart. I want to remember everything. Just in case…

He pulls away too soon. But then, everything would have been too soon... We could have kissed for twenty years and it would have been too soon. Nothing less than eternity would have been enough.

“I love you.” He says. Simple. Easy. Three words. But they are everything.

“I love _you.”_ I reply. Soft. Too trivial. It doesn’t even begin to cover the full scope of my feelings for him, but it’s all I have in the time I have.

Our eyes meet one last time. Grey and green. Desperate and afraid. Then I blink and he’s gone. The door glows from the inside, indicating the spell he’s placed on it to keep me in and others out. I can’t help it; I wait a few more seconds then I go over and try the knob. It doesn’t budge. Of course it doesn’t.

Tears flood my face. I back away from the door until my back hits the wall, then I slide down until my butt hits the floor, bury my face in my knees, hugging my arms around my legs and cry. And wait. And cry. And wait.

And wait...

And cry some more…

Even though it’s only been a few months I’d forgotten that time used to not be my friend. I forgot how it would always slow down when all I wanted was for it to speed up. Or at least pass at a normal rate. I also never realized how much I’d miss clocks or watches. In here I have no way to tell the time. I can’t even look out of a window to potentially gauge the sun’s progress through the sky. I can just sit here, counting seconds but not even sure if I’m counting too slow or too fast because my perception of what’s real is so distorted at the moment. I can’t even tell if I’m saying my Mississippis too slow or fast and I keep losing count anyway.

So I have no idea how much time has passed when there’s a thunderous crash on the door. I shriek in shock and fear, scrambling to my feet, fumbling for the giant sword which, even though it’s too heavy for me I still dragged all the way here, refusing to just leave it behind somewhere.

Then I realize my mistake and want to kick myself for screaming. I just announced to whoever is out there that I am in here.

Speaking of… Who _is_ out there? Friend or foe? Are they here for me? Is it over? Oh god. What if it’s over. What if we lost? What if Loki is dead? Oh, god!

My breathing speeds up until I start to hyperventilate.

The door smashes into pieces. No, not the door, I realize belatedly in my panic muddled state. The wall next to the door. Apparently Loki’s spell did hold. But whoever is out there about to come in has found a loophole: if the door don’t work, smash down the wall…

Bile rises in my throat as I see the ugly octopus looking monster from my first time aboard the Titan’s ship slither into the room. Ebony Maw. He's followed by two of the hulking giants. I curl up against the wall still trying to get a handle on my breathing

My entire body trembles violently as I'm forced to consider what these monsters' presence here means. I try to shove the thoughts from my mind and drag myself to my feet. My knees are shaking as are my hands when I try to lift the heavy sword. This time the adrenaline of my situation does not work in my favour by making me inexplicably stronger. This time it makes me jumpy and jittery, and almost unable to even hold on to my only weapon; meager though it may be in my hands.

The two giant monsters growl menacingly and start forward, turning my insides to jelly and my thoughts to mush. The octopus monster steps into their path, stopping them with a slimy raised hand.

“Thanos wants her alive.” he reminds them warningly.

Thanos! Wants me alive. Again. _No!_ Why?

“Why?” I try to snarl, but my panic constricted throat makes it come out as a whine instead.

Octopus-Ass smirks with his sharp-toothed, lipless mouth. “What has already worked, will work again. And this time Thanos will not overlook any openings that will allow your lover to slip through his fingers.”

I hold my breath. This sounds like he's saying that Loki is alive. _He's alive!_ So it's not over yet! But if they’re taking me again… Loki _will_ come for me again, just like last time. Just like Thanos expects. And then…

I don't want to think about that now. I can’t. I’ll just need to find a way to slip out of their slimy or huge hands. _How?_ my brain asks skeptically. I shove the thoughts and doubts away forcefully. _I’m smart, right?! I’ll figure it out!_

My traitorous mind comes up with more convoluted questions for me to obsess over. Why are the monsters here? Did Thanos still not make an appearance? _Did_ he? Did the weapon not work? Is Loki okay? I shove those thoughts away too, focusing instead on the fact that he is apparently alive!

The sword flies from my hand, ripping me fully out of my thoughts and bringing me back to the horror of my current situation; facing three monsters who want to drag me back to their boss who’s more terrifying than all three of them combined.

“Will you come willingly or must we force you?” Octopus Face asks.

“Screw you!” I spit. Since I’ve been divested of my only weapon I instead grab a heavy canvas bound ledger that lies atop the nearest filing cabinet and launch it as hard as I can straight at his ugly face.

“By force then I see…” the Octopus dodges and falls back, letting the giants do his dirty work for him.

Panic takes over and I start hucking and chucking anything I can reach at their oncoming faces: books, inkwells, files, glasses full of feather quills, a small vase with a bunch of dead dried flowers in it.

It doesn't deter them in the slightest. Anything I throw at them bounces right off their armor without so much as denting it. Even the things that hit their faces glance right off and fall to the floor without leaving a mark or even seeming to bother them. It’s like I’m throwing pillows.

When I feel their huge, hairy hands close around my upper arms, my brain seizes. It shuts down completely sending nothing but blurry, unfocused flashes of sensation to me. Their snarling faces. Their clawed nails digging into my skin, ripping my dress as I thrash. The Octopus' smug face. My heart pounding wildly through my whole body, and my vision going white with my panic. The next minutes are a blur. I don't know what happens. I know I'm kicking and screaming, clawing and scratching; fighting desperately to escape their unbreakable grips.

I don't know how much time has passed with my fruitless struggling when I finally go limp, my throat dry and hurting from the screaming, and my body sore from fighting and from having my various limbs impact with the giants’ hard armor over and over again.

I sag in their hold, somewhere in the back of my mind entertaining the notion that if I let my body go heavy and motionless they’ll have to drag my dead weight around and I’ll make it harder for them to kidnap me. But of course they’re each stronger than a mountain so I weigh next to nothing to them. When they take several steps simply dragging me like a half empty sack of potatoes between them, I realize how dumb that idea was and get my feet underneath me to stumble along with them.

My mind somersaults over its own desperate thoughts, as I try to think of something; anything, any way out of this; any way for me to escape. But as we traverse the castle, each of their steps taking four of mine, I can’t think of anything.

We exit the castle from a side exit I haven’t yet seen. It takes us around the side, and when I see the battle before us I stop dead.

A sharp yank on my arms that almost dislocates both of my shoulders, jerks me into motion again. I stumble forward blindly and unthinking or uncaring of my own predicament, only focusing on what I see below me.

The size of the battlefield has doubled. Monsters are everywhere, outnumbering the Asgardians five to one. A quick look upward confirms what I feared most. The force field is down. It sparkles in broken purple strands of spiderwebby magic in its dome still, but a huge hole has been rent into it right over our heads. A steady stream of monsters still trickles out of the ship; new bodies to replace each one the other side kills. As my horrifurd gaze shifts downward again I begin to notice that some of the bodies down there, twisting and fighting, do not wear armor. They don’t carry swords, or shields, or spears. They wear dirty, torn pants and dresses. In their hands are pitchforks, sticks, shovels, pots and pans, and other weapons of convenience. The citizens of Asgard have joined the fight to protect their home. But because they’re unprotected they’re falling faster than all the others. But, like with the monsters, for every one that falls there’s more pouring from the houses around the castle and the streets leading up to it, roaring their anger at the attack and brandishing any weapon they managed to grab on their way out their door.

It’s terrifying as much as it is heartwarming. Seeing these brave people fight Thanos and his forces when they know they are outmatched and outnumbered, but doing it anyway because they fight for their home, for their king, and for their freedom. Their courage makes my throat close up with emotion and my heart beat a wild tattoo of hope and admiration inside my ribcage

I’m brought back to my own predicament when I suddenly feel the ground disappearing from underneath my feet. I shriek, pitching forward, the monsters losing their grips on me, as I roll pell-mell down one of the little rolling hills that surround the sides and back of the castle, before the bigger mountains begin.

I come to a stop at the bottom of this hill, feeling bruised and battered from head to toe, but free. I scramble to my feet and take off running immediately, not knowing where I’m going, just trying to get away.

But thundering footsteps behind me indicate that one or both of the giant monsters with their much longer and stronger legs is already after me.

“Catch her!” shrieks Ebony Maw, completely redundantly because at that moment a huge hand tangles itself in my hair, ripping back on it, jolting me to a stop, and making me scream in pain.

My hands fly out wildly, hitting out at the huge forearm of the one that holds me so brutally. A deep, gravelly chuckle emanates from the monster.

“Let her go!”

Out of nowhere the voice echoes from behind me, and it sends a thrill of emotion through me which takes my brain several seconds to figure out. When it does, I spin around, my surprise and joy making me momentarily forget the pain of the too tight grip the monster who caught me is still maintaining on my hair.

Its fingers tighten in response to the shouted order, but I don't even feel it. Because there, standing in front of us, at the top of the next hill over, yellow magic sparking in her hands, is Frigga.

She’s alive! _She’s alive!_

I can't believe she's alive!

How did she survive?

“Step back, Queen!” the Octopus barks, his voice dripping in disdain when he says the word _queen._

“Let her go!” Frigga repeats, raising her glowing fists warningly.

The Octopus moves to my side, his slimy hand pushing the giants’ huge paw away, holding me in place by the nape of my neck. His cold, damp skin against mine makes me shiver. His slightly fishy smell so close to me makes me gag. I wonder if he’d let me go if I puked on him.

“End her.” he says dismissively, nodding towards Frigga. “And do it properly this time!”

 _“No!”_ I scream, twisting desperately, not wanting to have to watch Frigga die for real this time. But as the two giants charge towards her, a smile breaks out across her face. It's so much like the one I saw on Loki's face earlier that it throws me for a loop, and I have to consciously remind myself that they aren't actually related. But I'm pretty sure that little Loki might have picked up this particular expression from his mother as a young child.

She fights like Loki too. Fast and close range, using her smaller size to her advantage to duck and weave nimbly around the monsters’ cumbersome larger frames.

Before I can fully rally to either fear for her life or truly appreciate her fighting style, the body of the second giant monster falls across the smouldering remains of the first, and Frigga steps over the little pile, fingers sparking, coldly feral smile firmly in place as she beckons with a single crooking of her finger towards the Squid-man.

He gives a shriek of pure, impotent rage then shoves me away hard. I crash to the ground, feeling the gravel scraping my palms and knees, ripping through the skirt of my dress.

When I look back up, spitting hair out of my face, Frigga is to locked in full magical combat with the Octopus. I watch in awe, my heart pounding in my throat as shards of magic, jagged like glass and sharp as knives fly between the two fighting bodies. Every time their limbs clash it produces a sharp grinding sound, and sends sparks flying, kind of like metal hitting metal.

“Annie, go!” Frigga shouts. This time I don’t have to be told twice. The deadly bolts of magic that shoot from the two opponents are too much for me. As much as I don’t want to leave her behind again, this display of a force that by scientific definition is beyond my comprehension is too much for me, and so I turn tail and scramble up the hill that lies between me and the battlefield, thinking I might skirt around between the two battles, one huge, one small, and run back to hide in the castle. And even as I hate myself for leaving Frigga behind again I think that maybe, just maybe she’ll be able to pull off another miracle and win again. Didn’t I already think her outmatched before? And against all odds she managed to come out on top. She’ll do that again! She _has_ to!

I reach the top of the hill and screech to a stop, my feet skidding in the loose gravel. The battle is close and coming closer. The monsters are driving towards the castle and the Asgardians, outnumbered and out-forced have no choice but to fall back as they fight bitterly to defend their stronghold.

But one thing is clear: I can’t go this way. I also can’t go back either because I fear that one of the flying spells will hit me, either by accident or on purpose. And besides, if I go back to the castle and Thanos’ army is attempting to take it, I probably shouldn’t go back there either at all. So where do I go? What the hell do I do?

I turn to see how Frigga is faring and see her with her teeth gritted, sweat pouring down her face, as she holds the Octopus on his knees, bound in ropes of fire. He struggles and bucks hard and I get the feeling that he’s very close to breaking out of these bonds Frigga has cast.

I look around wildly for something, anything I could use to potentially help her without putting myself at unnecessary risk or, more importantly, mucking it up for her. My foot nudges a large rock. Biting my lip hard and wondering if this could possibly work, I bend and pick it up, then hitch up my dress and run back towards where the Octopus thing is very slowly starting to snap the fiery ropes one by one.

Frigga gives a scream of effort, squeezing her eyes shut as she tries to maintain her hold. I watch a self assured smirk break out across Ebony Maw's ugly face, and remember suddenly what Loki said about him always having been too arrogant for his own good.

Just as he’s about to rise to his feet, shaking off the smouldering, ashy remains of the once fiery ropes, I surge forward and bash my rock down onto his right temple with as much force as I can summon.

The Octopus monster crumples to the ground in a heap of slimy limbs.

Frigga’s eyes snap open, staring at me in surprise. I look back at her, and feeling just as if I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t have been doing, quickly hiding the rock behind my back.

“Did you..?” Frigga breaks off.

Like a child caught in a lie I slowly bring the rock out from its hiding place and show it to her.

“Well... it appears my husband was wrong about you, Annie dear.” Frigga says softly, surprise and even admiration coloring her voice.

I feel pride glowing in my chest at her tone before it’s suddenly extinguished by the words she actually said. “Wait a minute… what did Odin say about me?”

Frigga gaze travels up and over my shoulder, looking towards where the battle still rages, hidden behind the peak of the hill, but coming ever closer judging by the sounds that are getting louder and louder. “It appears as if the fight is much closer than I would feel comfortable with. Let us return you to the castle, dear. Come on. We shall have time for questions later.”

She reaches out her hand towards me only to find herself with me suddenly in her arms. “I thought you were dead!” I sob quietly into her shoulder.

Her arms close around me, her soft hands stroking up and down my back and over my hair. “Hush, dear. I am alright. I told you that you mustn’t worry about me, and should instead worry about any who might attack me.”

When I look up I see an impish twinkle in her eyes. I can’t help but give a tiny, shaky laugh, though it’s still fraught with worry and fear. “But… _how?”_

“There will be time for questions later, dear. For now let us get you to safety. Come…”

Before she can get out another word or take one step away, the battle crests the top of the hill. I cry out and stumble and trip away, pushing into Frigga's side. She pulls me back to her, using her body to shield me from the grunting, heaving, sweating, battling bodies that suddenly surround us in a crush of power, grime, blood, shiny armor, and flashing swords.

I cringe into Frigga's solid unyielding presence feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of bodies around me, and the fact that they are all furiously fighting to the death. My brain reminds me of the fact that I, not so long ago, wished to be exactly here; in the center of the battle. Now I wish I was anywhere else! Anywhere but in the middle of this roaring bloodbath. I thought I'd know what was going on if I was close to the  
battle but now that I’m actually here I have no idea. I only know what's happening right in front of me, and what's happening there is death.

An Asgardian warrior goes down with a scream right at my feet, a sword skewered sideways through his neck. As the monster who owns the sword pulls it out, a geyser of blood sprays right in my face. I'm shocked at how warm it is. So shocked that when the same monster makes a beeline straight for me, I don't even feel anything other than the shock, as my hand goes up to my cheek and comes away scarlet.

Suddenly I get a shove in the back that sends me sprawling right across the chest of the soldier I just watched fall. Turning to look over my shoulder I see that it was Frigga who pushed me down and out of the way of the monster's attack.

A laborious rattling sound snaps my attention to the man beneath me. He's still alive. Though judging by the pasty pallor of his face he won't be for long...

His eyes find mine, wide, panicked and filled with pain and fear. They’re brown; so brown like chocolate, their centers turning lighter, like caramel, and watery with tears and fear. He's young, I realise, as I stare into his beautiful, tragic eyes. Younger than me. Maybe seventeen or eighteen. Although I know that on Asgard that means that he's probably actually over five hundred years old at least; but still, he's young for a warrior.

He tries to speak; his lips move, but all that comes out is a horrible gurgling sound. His hand paws at me and I grasp it tightly in both of my own, squeezing it.

“You'll be okay!” I say, trying to sound comforting and reassuring even though I can see with heartbreaking clarity that he will never be okay again.

“You'll be fine, alright... Just stay calm. Stay with me. Help is coming. You'll be fine. I'm gonna stay with you. I promise!”

He coughs, more blood splattering my face and hands. His fingers squeeze mine weakly, and I squeeze back. His body begins to shake and convulse, his eyes rolling madly as the choking gurgles emanating from his throat speed up.

“Eyes on me. Keep your eyes on me. Look at me; I'm right here. I'm not leaving. You're okay. You're going to be just fine. Just hang on a little longer. Keep holding on to me.”

His brown eyes find mine again, as something that looks like a smile slides across his lips. He mouths something that could have been _Thank you_. Then his mouth goes slack, his chest stops shuddering, and his eyes become distant; flat and dull. A single trickle of blood dribbles out from between his parted lips.

Dead... he's dead.

“I'm sorry!” I gasp out, squeezing his limp hand. “I'm so sorry!”

Suddenly nausea as I’ve never felt before overwhelms me, and I spin around on my knees and vomit profusely onto the ground behind me.

Somewhere in my bout of vomiting I feel hands grabbing onto my shoulders, trying to pull me upwards.

I struggle and squirm until the smell of lemon verbana satchet and vanilla reaches my nose. Frigga! Then realize that the hands pulling at me are small and warm; not monster hands.

I let her lift me to my feet.

“Are you alright, Annie?" Frigga asks, beginning to wipe gently at my face with a handkerchief she pulls from who knows where.

I'm about to nod, even though I’m absolutely not alright, when above our heads the sky explodes.

From the huge ship that still hangs like a giant, ugly, preying vulture in the sky, emanates a horrifyingly familiar ray of light. However this time instead of beaming someone up, it seems like someone is being beamed down to us instead.

A huge, purple someone.

Thanos!

The Titan lands with ground shaking force right in front of where Frigga and I stand, missing the dead body of the young soldier by millimeters.

His beady little eyes that seem somehow too small for his great big face are right on me. In his hand he holds a gigantic, absolutely evil looking dual sided sword thing. A dull metal chest plate covers his torso and that’s all the armor he wears; all that he probably feels he needs.

A great screaming tide rises up as all the Asgardians try to stampede away from the threatening figure that started all of this, that now bears down on them.

Thanos ignores the stampede that gives a wide berth around him and speaks to me directly. “Hello again, little one,” he rumbles.

The sound of his voices reverberates inside my ribcage, sending me straight back to his throne room on his ship, hanging upside down; tortured, alone, broken, terrified!

I cringe back into Frigga who pulls me closer, then steps in front of me, putting her own body between me and the one who now causes me almost as much instinctive, raw panic as my brother does.

My damp fingers curl into the fabric of Frigga's dress, accidentally grabbing onto some of her hair in the process.

I don’t even know if I'm holding onto her because I'm searching for comfort and protection from her, or because I'm trying to hold her back; protect her from the Titan...

A slow grin stretches the Titan’s face, his yellowing brick-like teeth on full display, flashing mockingly at Frigga and her attempt at hiding and shielding me. But just as he’s about to say something probably condescending, something smacks with tremendous force into the back of his huge purple head. He staggers forward a step then turns, not seeming angry, only mildly annoyed at the interruption to the lagging monologue I’m sure he was about to deliver. Thor stands behind him, his hand outstretched, his hammer flying back to reunite with its owner. His cape blows out majestically behind him, snapping in a nonexistent wind, alternatingly red and green.

Wait a minute... green?

Loki steps out from behind his brother. He's wearing armor that he wasn't wearing before as well as his helmet, the great golden horns curving up towards the sky.

My heart fills to bursting when I see him, at the same time as it squeezes almost painfully in worry and fear.

A slow, malicious smile spreads slowly actoss the Titan’s boulder like face, yellowing brick like teeth flashing in Loki’s direction. “Well, well. The trickster. How good of you to finally make an appearance.”

Loki steps in front of Thor, letting green magic sparkle in his fingertips. “It is not I who has been avoiding the battle since it commenced. Like a coward.” The last sentence is hissed out with a curled tongue between clenched teeth, and its clearly meant to aggravate and insult. I see Thanos’ facial features twitch ever so slightly; a sign that Loki’s barbed words have found there mark, then those slab-like lips curl into a cold sneer.

“Isn't it then also cowardice to sneak onto another’s ship to rescue the poor damsel in distress instead of facing your pending fate head on?!"

“No, that is cunning.” Loki says, the sneer on his face mirroring that of the Titan, though Loki’a is filled with pure hate, while Thanos wears an expression of mocking disdain. "And an oversight on your part. But then again, you, like everyone else, has always made a habit of underestimating me..."

"Perhaps," Thanos muses. "Or perhaps it was all part of a bigger plan."

Loki's eyebrow rises mockingly. "So it was your plan to be defeated here on Asgard?"

Thanos chuckles darkly. "Defeated? Yes, you would know all about defeat, wouldn't you, Loki?" 

Loki shrugs. "I do not count a planned defeat a loss. My actions had consequences and the consequences I knew and accepted. In fact, i even chose what my sentence was to be. I cannot say we will be allowing you the same courtesy today."

"You think you won because you managed to escape my eyes for a measly two years?"

"No. Only your convoluted mind sees this feud between us as a game to be won or lost. I have no quarrel with you, Titan. Or at least I had none before you attacked that which I love..."

"Aah, yes. Your precious human. I never knew you to be weak, trickster, until i looked into her eyes and saw you reflected there. Very revealing."

"Love does not make one weak." Loki's eyes go unerringly to me. I didn't think he noticed I was here but of course he did. Of course! "In fact," he continues, "I have never been stronger." At the last word he punches his hand out straight sending a ball of concentrated green energy straight at Thanos. 

The Titan brings up his huge sword, blocking the bolt, and sending it refracting in a hundred different directions. He laughs derisively. "Do you truly believe you can beat me? Me? No other being in the universe has ever wielded two Infinity Stones..." Thanos reciprocates by sending a bolt of red energy at Loki.

I scream as it hits him directly in the chest, making him double over. Instinctively I immediatly start running toward him only to be held back by Frigga's hands. Loki kneels doubled over, one arm folded across his chest. I see what no one else sees because I'm looking for it: a subdued white glow beginning in the hand that he holds fisted across his sore chest.

Thanos laughs a dirty laugh as he slowly starts to walk forward. Thor raises his hammer and takes a step toward the oncoming Titan, but Loki holds out his not glowing hand to stop his brother. 

Thor actually stops. He looks at Loki who jerks his chin towards a group 9f warriors who just touched down behind Thanos. "Take care of the Dark Order and leave him to me."

"Loki..." Thor starts to argue.

"Trust me, brother." Loki says. The two brothers seem to share a moment as their eyes meet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Frigga is alive. I mean come on, I'm not nearly strong enough to kill my favourite characters even if they aren't mine!  
> According to my calculations there'll be one more action chapter in which the battle concludes. Hopefully I'll have that up soon. Fingers crossed. I really want to be done with this story not because I'm growing tired of it or anything like that but because I want to start new projects, but I never feel I can when I still have another one on the go. But at the same time I dont want to finish this story because I'm super afraid of endings and I dont want to say goodbye to the character of Annie and this particular iteration of Loki. I dunno, I'm weird but I keep putting it off because I've grown attached and I dont want to let it go...  
> I make no sense.   
> Anyhoops I hope you liked the chapter and are no longer mad at me about Frigga's open fate but are still reasonably suspenseful for how this all concludes.   
> Ooooh.  
> Ok. I'm gonna go to sleep. Goodnight.  
> Thank you for reading!


	64. Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: still war. Mentions of death. Anxiety. Survivor's guilt.  
> FINALLY A NEW CHAPTER!!! I'm so horrible for making you all wait for so long. I'm sorry. It would have been done sooner but I felt inspired to draw you guys another picture to go with the chapter, so that's hiding at the end.  
> Also I'm going to dedicate this chapter to my friend FairyArtLover, as a birthday gift. I know it's a bit late though but happy late birthday anyway!!! You're like my most enthusiastic and supportive reader, so thank you so much. I hope you enjoy your present and it's not too nerve wracking. ❤  
> Okay everyone else, I hope you enjoy the chapter too and maybe you'll all stop hating me for cliffhangers. Who knows...

_"Love does not make one weak." Loki's eyes go unerringly to me. I didn't think he noticed I was here but of course he did. Of course! "In fact," he continues, "I have never been stronger." At the last word he punches his hand out straight, sending a ball of concentrated green energy straight at Thanos._

_The Titan brings up his huge sword, blocking the bolt, and sending it refracting in a hundred different directions. He laughs derisively. "Do you truly believe you can beat me? Me? No other being in the universe has ever wielded two Infinity Stones..." Thanos reciprocates by sending a bolt of red energy at Loki._

_I scream as it hits him directly in the chest, making him double over. Instinctively I immediatly start running toward him only to be held back by Frigga's hands. Loki kneels doubled over, one arm folded across his chest. I see what no one else sees because I'm looking for it: a subdued white glow beginning in the hand that he holds fisted across his sore chest._

_Thanos laughs a dirty laugh as he slowly starts to walk forward. Thor raises his hammer and takes a step toward the oncoming Titan, but Loki holds out his not glowing hand to stop his brother._

_Thor actually stops. He looks at Loki who jerks his chin towards a group of warriors who just touched down behind Thanos. "Take care of the Dark Order and leave him to me."_

_"Loki..." Thor starts to argue._

_"Trust me, brother." Loki says. The two brothers seem to share a moment as their eyes meet._

* * *

Whatever Loki and Thor have been through today it seems to have rekindled and strengthened their brotherly bond because after a prolonged moment in which a whole conversation seems to happen wordlessly and in only a few seconds Thor swings Mjolnir helicopter style above his head and goes flying off straight towards the group of alien monsters Loki has directed him to. They scatter, weapons and teeth and armor flashing, re-converging on him seconds later. Five against one. I almost feel sorry for them…

Loki turns back to Thanos. His lips are still curled in the angry, mocking, feral smile that almost makes me pee myself, and would too if it was directed at me. His eyes sparkle with subdued fire. The fingers hidden in the folds of his cloak that he holds bundled against his stomach still glimmer. “You’re wrong…” he says softly.

A schism of confusion passes over the Titan’s face. Loki elaborates. “Or perhaps you are just arrogant… You, Titan, are not the only being to ever wield two Infinity Stones. In fact, you are not even the first…”

Thanos' face becomes stony. “And which obscure being in history do you believe holds that honor?” his voice is brittle; as brittle as the rumbling voice of such a huge person can be. 

Still kneeling, Loki examines his fingernails. “Me.” The word is a breath; a whisper, but still it rings out clear and true and strong, filled with conviction and confidence. 

“You?” Thanos laughs. “You believe yourself to be worthy of the honor?!”

Loki smiles benignly, though I see the hatred snapping behind his eyes. “The Tesseract and the Staff of the Chitauri.” He says. “The Space and the Mind Stone.”

Thanos' laughter dies abruptly. “On my orders.”

“So you believed…”

“What I believed is inconsequential. You were under my control and therefore your hands were mine, and it was still my hands that held these Stones first.”

Loki shrugs. “And yet your hands could not hold on to me then, and so here we are today…”

“Here we are.” Thanos echoes mockingly. 

“As most power hungry megalomaniacs, Titan, you fail to truly see the potential of the weapons you hold. You only understand power and therefore cannot see beyond it. The nuances of myths and legends are naught to you unless they center themselves _around_ power. Any story that does not prove itself irrevocably, you ignore and disbelieve and therefore you fail to see and possibly obtain those things that might truly make you what you so clamor to be… But do not feel bad for your shortcomings; most who seek and some who find power, possess those same faults.”

Thanos’ face becomes harder and angrier with every word Loki speaks. “And what fairy tales have your adoptive parents raised you on, Trickster?” he asks, putting a delicately mocking strain on the word _adoptive,_ likely to remind Loki of his personally perceived insecurities and vulnerabilities regarding his parentage.

Loki only smiles and finally straightens from his wounded, protective crouch. His palm opens, fingers unfurling like the petals of a flower to reveal the blindingly white, diamond bright, glowing stone inside. “This one.”

Thanos' eyes widen as his giant face takes on a distinctly greedy look. “The Ego Stone.” He looks up at Loki and his intent becomes clear. Now it’s no longer just about beating Loki to win his twisted game. Now it’s about something more. Power, like Loki said. And Thanos wants it; wants the thing that at its core represents it, and perhaps is even aptly named; Thanos’ greatest shortcoming reflected now in that greedy, singly focused desire for the Ego Stone.

Loki inclines his head somberly.

“It exists?!”

“Myths and legends, fables and fairy tales. If you do not take chances on them you may never see some of the universe’s greatest miracles. Not even you, oh self proclaimed savior of that universe.”

I know Loki is taunting Thanos with his stories of exploring and looking for great wonders since he told me earlier that he only stumbled across the Stone by accident as well. But he’s goading the Titan, playing to his one true weaknesses. Ego! And Loki is exploiting it as much as possible.

It appears to be working. Thanos' brow lowers, his beady eyes glint angrily, and his huge jaw grinds and sets. “Enough idle chatter, _Princeling._ The time has come for you to do what you should have done years ago. Surrender. Pledge allegiance to me, and I may spare not yours, but the worthless, insignificant life of your little human."

Loki’s own face darkens in response to the threat against me, as an ice cold shiver runs down my spine. “You will never touch her again.” Loki’s voice grinds out from his throat, tight and shaking with fury now, as he closes his fingers once more around the Ego Stone, his fist and the air around it beginning to glow with the same white light as the Stone itself.

Thanos throws his great ugly head back and laughs. It’s an ugly laugh; full of malice, devoid of humor, deep, gravelly, like a boulder rolling down a rocky hill, and it comes and comes, endlessly without signs of stopping.

Loki’s lips curl into a sneer of disdain before he punches his fist forward, sending another bolt of light and energy at the Titan, though this one is pure white instead of green.

It hits Thanos squarely in the chest, effectively quelling his laughter but otherwise not appearing to do any sort of damage whatsoever to him. My throat closes up as my mouth goes dry and fear lights up my very bones. If that did nothing to him does that mean the Stone isn't working as it’s supposed to? Is it working at all? Is the Titan stronger? Is this it? No.

No!

“Interesting…” Loki muses, opening his hand and looking down at the Stone that shimmers there. “Seems it wants my own powers, insignificant though they may be in comparison to it, to combine with. Hmm…”

He looks back up, a half smirk on his face, then raises the Stone at the same time as he lowers his head. For a moment in think he’s putting his face in his hands in defeat, or hopelessness, but when he raises it again I see that the Ego Stone now sits, seemingly embedded directly into his forehead, between his eyebrows and below the sweep of the golden horned helmet, glowing no longer pure white, but tinged with the lightest of warm greens.

Thanos lets loose a low, rumbling growl then raises his own fist, the red gem on his third knuckle beginning to glow, brighter and brighter until it shoots a ray of red laser looking light directly at Loki.

I scream in fear and start forward, my terror for him eclipsing my fear for myself as well as my common sense.

I stumble to a stop when I see a field of light green spiderwebby energy arcing in front of Loki like a shield, the bolt of red hitting it and dispersing into hundreds of tiny scarlet tendrils that curl and twist around the wall of energy, probing for a way in or through, but unable to find one, then fading harmlessly out to nothing.

“Mother, get her out of here!” Loki orders, not looking at, but quite obviously meaning me. His fists tighten and begin to shine with the same green-white light, the force field around him pulling inwards into his fingers, fueling the light there.

“No!” I shriek and utterly foolishly start running toward him once more, not wanting to have to leave him behind _again._ But before I can even make it more than two steps Frigga’s slim arms wrap around me, holding me back. She’s strong. Damn, she’s strong. She easily pulls me backwards away from Loki and the Titan bearing down on him, both Stones in the metal glove now glowing, purple and red. I thrash and buck wildly, fighting against the Queen’s hold, but her fingers are iron, her arms bands of steel as she forces me further and further away from Loki. Her progress is only slightly hindered by my wild and desperate struggling.

Even over the sounds of the raging battle, and the newly enforced distance, I can hear Loki’s voice ring out clearly, so attuned am I to him. He speaks to the Titan, his voice so cold, so full of hatred, and danger, and power as I’ve never heard it before. “You took everything from me once. You will not take her again!”

As I watch, the glow starts to spread from his fists upwards, creeping slowly up his arms like foggy fire licking over his armor.

“She means nothing to me.” The Titan says dismissively. “Nor did she ever. A means to an end; that’s all she was.”

The fire energy grows, crackling across Loki’s shoulders, setting his hair aflame, but rather than charring and burning it’s as if his hair simply becomes the flame, the inky black locks floating around his pale face, shimmering with white-green flames. His eyes slide closed, as slowly, so slowly that I at first think I’m imagining things, he begins to rise into the air, floating feet above the battlefield like some angelic, heavenly figure; devastatingly beautiful, inexorably dangerous, laced with power and set aflame in copper green fire. “And so she will mean an end.” He says quietly, his voice somehow magically magnified, soft, yet sonorous and resounding. “Yours.”

His eyes open. I gasp. They glow. Pale green light, not like the predatory reflection that happens at night, but seeming to come directly from within him emanates from their depths. They look not like the usual emeralds but more like pale jade. Different, awe inspiring, breathtaking and still so, so beautiful. The magic illuminating his eyes from the inside, flowing outwards in a display of power that raises the hairs on my body even from fifty feet away. “You use power, Titan,” he says, his voice impenetrable, blasé, and icy cold. “You use it, but you do not know how to become one with it…” Slowly he brings his arms up to the sides. 

The air around him begins to crackle with energy, sending his fiery hair whipping around his face and his cloak swirling out behind him. The green-white glow surrounds him like an aura of pure power, burning brighter and brighter, like he’s an exploding star; a new galaxy in the making. The tons of war torn debris around him begin to slowly rise into the air in time with his lifting arms. 

Thanos gives a roar that shakes my bones, and starts charging at Loki. The mountain of rubble shoots straight at him, halting him in his tracks as he’s forced to use his sword and giant meaty forearms to block the deadly flying detritus. But still, even when pieces make direct impact with his shoulders, stomach, sides, or even his head they don’t seem to do much damage and appear to do even less to deter him injury wise. 

Loki follows right behind, having launched himself ten feet into the air in a mighty leap, and when he lands back on the ground on one knee, driving both his fists down, it’s as if a nuclear blast, made of green magic and white fire radiates outwards from his point of impact. It smashes into the Titan, sending him stumbling backwards.

Too riveted by the display of sheer power playing out on front of my eyes, I don’t even notice that I’m no longer being dragged backwards. I become dimly aware that Frigga is beside me, her hand grasping my elbow in a death grip, as she too watches her youngest son show the world, and the one who tortured him, just how formidable of an opponent he really is.

Loki straightens swiftly from the crouch he landed in and begins to throw glowing balls of pure energy, light, and magic at the Titan, who is forces to block and retreat. Each ball of energy makes a sound like a grenade exploding, vibrating the ground underneath my feet with the impacts. But still it only seems to do minimal amounts of damage...

Thanos plants his feet wide apart for traction and swings his giant double edged sword. It drives straight for Loki, who brings up both hands to block it with magic.

The force of the blow drives him back down to one knee. I cry out, starting forward instinctively, even though I am still most definitely outmatched! Frigga catches me easily, holding me back, though she no longer tries to drag me away. Instead I hear her whispering through white, bloodless lips, “Come on, Loki. Come on, my son!”

The giant blade is half a foot from Loki’s face and inching closer. As I watch, heart pounding in my throat, sweat beading across my upper lip, and fear and adrenaline vibrating my entire body, tendrils of red and purple power begin to snake around the blade. It’s Thanos' own magic, stolen from the two Stones in the Gauntlet, adding strength to the Titan’s already strong body.

He smirks lopsidedly at Loki, the evil in his face cold enough to freeze my blood. “You see?” he rumbles. “It is not about love and loss and honor, or whatever it is you fight for. None of this matters. There is only power and those to weak to use it. It is not about becoming one with it. It is only about using it. Subjugating it. And through it, those around you.”

He leans into the blade, pushing it a further few inches towards Loki’s upturned face. I can see his arms shaking with the effort to hold the sword off. If his grip or his magic fails and the blade falls, it’s on direct course to cleave his head from his neck. Electric terror is burning me up. I turn desperately to Frigga. “Do something!” I beg, clutching her sleeve.

“I cannot.” She looks back at me, her own face desperate and afraid. “Anything I do to help will be inconsequential. My powers are no match for theirs when infused with the Infinity Stones. I will be as a gnat flinging itself against the windows of their strengths…”

Hopelessness blooms in my heart and I’m just about to stupidly become that very gnat and literally _physically_ fling myself at these two in hopes of causing some kind of a distraction, when something stops me. At first I can’t pinpoint it because physically nothing in the scene before me has changed in the few seconds I was distracted, except that the sword has moved another inch closer to Loki’s unprotected face and neck, but then it becomes clear to me. There’s a new sense or realization, of resignation and determination thrumming through my body. One that isn’t mine. It’s Loki’s. It’s a sensation of understanding, of coming to a conclusion that doesn’t quite please him but he’s facing it with a grim sense of purpose and coming to terms with it. And as my own core temperature drops, automatically in sync with his through our soulmate connection, I understand too.

The green white fire burns brighter. The lights in his eyes intensifies, flashing for the briefest of moments, right after he blinks, scarlet red. Blue sweeps his skin, eclipsing the milky white, seeming to wash away the dirt and blood and grime that has accumulated there during the battle. Real horns sprout from his forehead, bracketing the glowing stone embedded in the icy skin between them, and curling up to twine themselves around the fake golden ones of his helmet.

The Frost Giant drops one hand, and the sword inches even closer to his face. I can see his sharp, pointed teeth gritted tightly in a grimace of sheer effort, but then the expression on his face shifts as his mood shifts too and I feel that shift mirrored deep within myself. Suddenly his confidence is back. He’s understood fully what he professed earlier; that the Ego Stone wanted _his_ power in conjunction with its own. And it wanted _all_ his power. The learned as well as the inborn. The one from books and the one already swimming in his blood. The one he perceives as good because it ties him to his family, and the one he believes is bad because it separates and differentiates him from them. All of it; all of _him._ With this realization and understanding he is no longer grimacing but smiling. It is a cold smile; bone chillingly frigid, like his frozen skin, and so full of hatred that it almost stops my heart. His eyes flare up red as his chin lowers, and he bares those fangs in an awful impression of a grin that promises nothing but pain to the one it’s aimed at. 

The hand he dropped earlier punches upward in a perfectly executed uppercut, as he straightens from his crouch in one powerful surge. Fire and ice combine in a blast of deadly burning heat and lethal cold. The combination of the two elements of pure power hits Thanos' giant sword and shatters it on impact like it were forged not from deadly metal, but from nothing more than cheap candy glass. The remains are knocked out of the giant purple hands and before the Titan can react he’s being lifted bodily into the air, surrounded by green and white energy that shivers and wavers, flakes of snow and ice swirling glisteningly in a slow vortex around him.

The flowing storm of magic contracts.

The Titan howls in pain. His enormous muscles clench, the cords in his neck standing out, beady beetle-black eyes squeezing shut. And still Loki clenches his fists tighter, an imitation of the way Thanos once tortured him months ago on his ship floating above the destroyed cellblock of the Avengers Compound. Have we come full circle since then? I think we have.

Loki’s fists tighten more, drawing the magic inward, literally crushing his tormentor with the power of his fury, in a whirling tornado of icy fire.

With an almost dreamy nonchalance Loki flicks one hand out to one side, and then to the other. As he does so down below the movement is mirrored on the Titan’s body up above as the heavy, chunky armor gets ripped off him piece by piece.

“All cannons… fire…” Thanos manages to spit out between clenched teeth, obviously talking to someone through some kind of intercom connection we aren’t party to. “Just… do it!” he shouts out in more pain as Loki’s fingers tighten further, continuing to crush, and whoever he’s speaking to clearly raises concerns about their own troops. But the Titan’s word is law…

A loud rumbling sounds from overhead. I look up and feel horror wash through me as gigantic guns emerge from every available surface on the humungous ship. There’s a low humming sound that vibrates through my belly and sounds like a gigantic swarm of locusts descending, then, as one, they begin to fire and I can’t even duck or shield myself, so mesmerized am I by the sight of my impending death, hurtling towards me in a million bursts of orange.

The blasts of deadly photon light and fire never hit. I hear Loki’s yell of determination and when my eyes fly back to him it’s to see him still holding the Titan suspended with one hand, while his other arm is over his head palm facing straight up, as he projects a giant shield of green and white magic over the entire battle field, against which the bombs crash, exploding in bursts of flame all over the field, ten meters up in the air.

Frigga flies into motion beside me, copying her son’s posture, though both her hands go up to the skies. A second sheet of magic, this one a warm yellow, goes up and mingles with the one that is already there.

His mother’s help seems to take some of the strain off Loki because his focus returns to the struggling form of the Titan, still caught in his iron magical grip, held there, several feet off the ground. All the Asgardians have rallied around Loki, keeping at bay the monsters who would otherwise rush to the aid of their leader. But I can see in every grimly determined face around me that they will let none touch their prince. Odin himself is now fighting Thanos’ three remaining head honchos by himself, and dominating them just as easily as Thor was before him. The elder Odinson meanwhile is taking on at least twenty at once, his hammer and cape a silver and red blur respectively.

But even over the calamity and the chaos surrounding him, Loki’s eyes find mine. He knows exactly where I am in the chaos and zeroes in on me. His face, so hard and cold, so contorted with hatred, softens for just a second when he sees me. Then it hardens again, though this time with resolve.

“Mother?” he shouts.

“I have it, son. Let go!” Frigga calls back, her own voice tight with concentration and strain as she prepares to take the full brunt of the protective force field that still shields us from the bombs continuously raining down.

Loki pulls his hand from the heavens and balls it back into a fist. The magic still surrounding Thanos glows brighter. The whirlwind spins faster and faster, burning sparks and lethally glittering shards of ice flying through the tongues of white and green flames. It all slices inwards, constricting again. Thanos shouts out. The light gets brighter still and brighter and brighter. Loki’s face contorts with effort and hate. “You. Will. _Never._ Touch. Us. _AGAIN!!!”_ he shouts, and then the field explodes into blinding white-green light, the roar of sound that accompanies it cutting of Thanos' continued yells of pain. Sharp little flakes of ice and snow sting my face, as a wave of intense cold washes over me making me feel like I’m running headlong through a raging snowstorm.

I throw my arms up to shield my face as I feel something else sweep over me on the heels of the cloud of snow and ice. It is a wave of pure, unbridled energy in its rawest form. It doesn’t hurt me in the slightest; it just makes my hair stand on end like it’s laced with static. It feels like a wave of warm water devoid of wetness as it blasts over me, making me rock back on my heels with the sheer force of it, to avoid falling on my butt.

Even though it hurts my eyes, I lower my arms just in time to see Loki hurl a gigantic fireball of green and white flames, encrusted in a shell of sparkling, jagged, frost-tipped icicles up at the huge ship. It flies straight through Frigga’s magical barrier, leaving it unharmed, and then punches directly through the giant ship’s hull. Explosions sound, roaring in my ears, making my bones vibrate and feel as though they’re liquefying within me. The ship blows up, and I watch in slow motion as green flames rip through it, white smoke billows, and ice flowers slowly form over every available surface, right before the hull is rent violently apart. Loki’s hands, now free, punch back up to the sky, adding his force field to that of his mother as the debris from the ruined ship comes raining down. I stand with my head tipped back, staring in complete awe as one gigantic rotor, aflame, blades still spinning slowly, spitting sparks and belching black smoke, comes down directly overhead, on course to crush me into powder. I can only stare, mouth agape as the huge machine falls closer and closer. Closer and closer. Closer…

But it never hits and it’s not me that gets crushed to powder. As it impacts with the shield, the huge piece of malfunctioning flight-ware disintegrates, turning into fine gray dust that comes drizzling down to drift in a gritty layer into my hair, my skin, and my clothes, combining with the blood and grime that already covers me like a second skin. 

All around me the pieces of the ship turn to ash, that covers everything, but harms no one.

I blink, as I notice that not a single monster is left. My addled brain takes a moment to realize that that blast of power must have leveled them all; they’ve been eradicated, pulverized, turned to dust, just like the debris still raining down from the sky. But the Titan is still here; or rather his body is. It lies where it floated, held by Loki and his powers, and discarded without a second thought when he had to turn his attention to saving us from the falling ship. For a second I’m afraid that Thanos isn’t really dead, that he’s about to get up and start fighting again but then reality catches up to me. He’s dead. It’s obvious. The purple skin is shriveled and turning grayish-brown. The eyes are dull and sightless, and, perhaps most indicative to the lack of life in the giant body, is the fact that the huge, broad barrel chest seems to be caved in. Imploded. Crushed. Every rib bent and splintered inwards, likely puncturing lungs and hearts and whatever other vital organs this alien specimen might have possessed to keep him alive. A thin layer of frost creeps slowly over the already decaying body that, while still huge, seems somehow smaller in death; less terrifying.

But he’s dead. He’s really dead. It’s over. It’s all over!

When the dust settles and everyone seems to have come to the same realization as I just have, a great, rousing cheer goes up. Everyone convenes on Loki, no doubt the hero of this battle. I stay back, still feeling too nervous to face a raucous crowd of this size, and too rattled by everything that’s just happened, shaky in the knees. All I want is to be close to Loki. Frigga comes to stand beside me.

“Are you well, Annie?” she asks kindly, not crowding me.

I nod, then consciously remind myself to answer aloud. “I am, I think. Thank you. Just… just a little freaked out still, I guess… by all this.”

“That is more than understandable. I am quite the same.” She laughs softly, then looks over at Loki who is being squeezed by Thor in a ginormous bear hug that lifts his feet off the ground. “Ah, my boys. Reunited and made up at last.”

I watch as Loki very gingerly hugs Thor back, his expression a mix of joy, suspicion, and forced apathy. His face is still blue, the glow from the Stone still illuminates it, casting deep shadows over his pronounced, razor sharp cheekbones.

Odin approaches. I see Loki stiffen in his brother’s arms. Thor feels it too and releases him, turning to face their father. It squeezes my heart in the best possible way to see Thor standing beside Loki, facing Odin, instead of on his father side, or even between the two with indecision.

I can’t hear what Odin says to his youngest son, but I see Loki’s expression, unwaveringly cool and forcibly distant. Until Odin reaches out and draws Loki into a hug. Loki doesn’t hug back but I watch as his glowing eyes slide closed and he lets his cheek rest, just for a second, on his father’s shoulder.

Loki is the one to pull away first. He says something, then turns to survey the crowd. His eyes find me easily, and when he starts toward me all the Asgardians step aside respectfully, clearing him a path straight to me.

He comes and I freeze up, staring at him. He looks incredibly imposing with his golden armor, his cape, and his helmet. Clad in black leathers, tendrils of green energy swirl all around him still, white flames continuously flickering on his shoulders, in his hair. Every time he blinks his jade bright eyes flash crimson. The sun that’s fighting to break through the choking clouds of smoke and dust strikes his icy skin making it sparkle and refract in icy blue shimmers. I can feel the power radiating off him, kind of like a static charge that arcs between us. I remember all that I just saw him do; the realization of who he is, how incredible, a god, so powerful, floors me and I automatically take a step back.

He falters slightly, and holds his hands out to me. “Annie. Annie, love. Please. Do not be frightened of me…” his voice is quiet and careful, low and calm, as if I’ll spook.

I want to kick myself. I’m not frightened of him. I don’t know why I stepped back. It was an instinctive reaction more out of respect than of fear. I know he won’t hurt me. I _know_ this!

I lunge forward, closing the meters between us in three long bounds, before I launch into his arms. His body is hard, the armor unyielding. He catches me, lifting me bodily off the ground with his relief. “Oh, love. Are you alright?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Are you..? Are you hurt?”

“No, no. Nothing serious. Oh, darling. I am sorry.”

I shake my head and reach up to press my fingertips to his lips before I remember to be verbal. “What are you sorry for?”

He shakes his head and reaches up to twine his fingers with mine, holding my hand up by his cheek. His skin is a curious mixture of hot and cold; I can’t physically tell. “I never wanted to put you in the middle of all of this…”

I shake my head again and throw myself into him once more, curving my body against his. The cold metal of his golden chest plate is cool against my cheek. “You saved me! Again.”

“From a threat that I caused!” he says bitterly, his arms wrapping all the way around me.

“No. You didn’t tell the purple asshole to attack. Not here and not back on Earth. It’s not your fault. It never was. We’ve been over this.”

“I could have lost you!” he mumbles, burying his face in my hair and holding me even tighter. My ribs protest, but I _so_ couldn’t care less. “Again. So many times.”

I shake my head against him. “But you didn’t. You stopped them. You saved me.”

“You saved me first.”

I smile waveringly. “We saved each other.”

“You are my greatest treasure. If anyone were to take you from me again, it would take more than an army to stop me from getting you back.”

My insides feel all shivery and glowy at this statement, and I press tighter. “I love you.”

“I love _you!”_ He whispers it into my hair. “I have never loved anything more.”

His hot/cold fingers grip my chin and tilt it up. His lips find mine, crashing down with the force of his desperation, love, relief, and grief. My fingers tangle in his fiery hair, half expecting to get burned. But I don’t, his power doesn’t hurt me, whether that’s him ensuring that or the Ego Stone itself, I don’t know. But it ceases to matter as we melt together. I can feel every one of his emotions pouring out of his every pore, projected into the air around him by the pulsing aura of all the powers he bears, and through my connection to him. It’s like we become one and the same being in love.

Applause breaks out all around us. But rather than feel flattered or embarresed or bashful or whatever I just completely break down. The entire day catches up to me in one fell swoop at the sound of the people around us cheering. Cheering despite the dead and injured that litter the ground, cheering despite what they lost. Or maybe because of it... Maybe they need a reason to celebrate in the face of the battle's aftermath; all this loss. I don't know. All I know is that all the fear, all the desperation, anger, hopelessness, terror, and pain I felt in the past 24 hours; in the past weeks; since the first time I saw the floating Ferris wheel in the sky, just all comes crashing down at once, choking me, smothering me beneath its immense weight. I can't breathe...

I can't breathe.

I burrow into Loki, clutching at him, my suddenly damp and clammy fingers slipping off the smoothness of his armor, unable to find purchase to grip onto the golden metal. I'm gasping and gulping desperately for air and I need him. The face of the dead soldier boy swims in my mind's eye, and try as I might I can't get the image out of my head. At the se time I still can't quite believe and understand that Loki is safe, that I won't still suddenly see him with those same glassy eyes and ashen skin, feel his blood spatter onto my hands, and his last breath waft across my face. I can't focus. I can't breathe. There's too many people here. Too many bodies. Too loud. Too loud. I'm falling apart.

Dimly I'm aware of being picked up and cradled against a solid chest. I feel myself being carried, feel the body carrying me getting jostled, vibrations in the chest underneath my ear that's pressed to cold metal. Talking. He's talking. Loki. Moving. Fast. Running. Then quiet. Silence. Peace. Us. Just us.

"Breathe, love. Breathe. It's alright. I have you. You are safe here. I am safe. Nothing shall hurt us now."

"Dead..." I gasp out. "They're dead. So many. So many dead..."

"I know." Loki's voice breaks. His hands smoothe the grimy hair off my sticky forehead. They're warm again, his hands. As I manage to bring him back into focus I see that he's changed back to his æsir form. His eyes are back to emerald green, though the Stone is still there, embedded in the skin of his forehead, glowing softly. A light greenish-white aura of light and energy still shimmers in the air around him. His helmet is gone.

"What do we do now, Loki?" I whisper shakily, tears clogging my voice, all the losses still on the forefront of my mind and thinking that if it's hitting me hard then how is it for him? These were his people. He was in the thick of things. He saw them die in front of his eyes by the hundreds. He probably knew some of them personally. 

His face is pained as he keeps stroking my face then pulls me closer to him, pressing his forehead to my dirt and blood streaked one. "We breathe, love. We just keep breathing."

Breathe? How? My lungs are blocks of cement filled with dust and ash. "I can't." I whisper croakily. "I need you. I need you to help me. Help me breathe, Loki."

"Shh, love. I will. I will always help you breathe. For the rest of time I will help you breathe. I promise!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the messily sketched pic of battle mode Infinity Stoned Jötun Loki sans the godamn butterknife. This is the kind of badass magical baby we deserved in infinity war!  
> So the whole final fight scene was kind of loosely based on the fight between Wanda and Thanos in endgame. I always thought that Loki and scarlet witch have similar powers but marvel decided to basically turn Loki into the comic relief with a butter knife (I'm not bitter) so I decided to fix that. No shade against Wanda, I love her, shes a baddass queen. And im not trying to steal her canon glory in any way, girl held of Thanos practically all by herself! I love her. I just used the scene as inspiration because writing action isnt one of my strong points so not having some kind of base scene that already exists in some form to use for inspiration is daunting.  
> I hope that was a worthy conclusion to this battle that's dragged itself out since like forever. I hope it didnt seem too easy or cheap or whatever. Story's not done, dont worry. There'll be a few more peaceful chapters that deal with the aftermath and some more fluff because FLUFF. but then it will inevitably conclude... deep sigh.  
> Anyway I hope that wasnt cliffhangery and I hope you enjoyed it and I hope I can update soon again. Now that theres no more action to write I should be back in my comfort zone and not staring at a blank page for hours on end. Here's hoping!  
> Thanks for reading and for sticking with me through the insanely long update time. Dont you just miss summer when I'd update every day?! Yea, me too!


	65. Is It Really Over?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Remember me?  
> Me, the idiot who at some point promised to update at least every two weeks. Haha. What a 🤡!!! Guess that was my sunny optimism of summer and having free time. And a life.   
> Ok, I'm done comisserating; hope you didn't all abandon me during my very unplanned break.   
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: for anxiety, survivors guilt, and just general angst.  
> Enjoy. And thanks for bearing with me!

Loki decrees that I’m to go back to his rooms because I have been through too much and need to rest and recuperate. 

I refuse. 

I refuse to leave him even though I’m emotionally flayed and physically dead on my feet. But I don’t care if I have to literally crawl after him on my hands and knees; I will not leave him again. Not today. Or tomorrow probably. Maybe in a year or two or three or four I’ll be ready to willingly let him out of my sight again. Though right now even that seems doubtful! Besides he’s just as exhausted as I am; even more than me, honestly. 

“Love…” he tries to reason with me, but I shake my head.

“I’m not going.” I say, trying my best to infuse all the stubbornness of a herd of oxen into my shaky, scratchy voice. “Not without you.”

He presses his lips together into a thin line. Not in annoyance, I sense, rather in something like mild despair and guilt because he understands my reluctance to be apart from him, feels like he caused it, but knows he’s going to force it once again anyway. ‘For my own good!’ Blah, blah!

“You need to rest too!” I put in before he can start trying to argue me down again. “You need it more than me.”

“I have responsibilities. People to talk to. Actions to answer for. But I shan’t be long and I shan’t be in danger. The threat had passed, love. And I shall join you soon. I promise!”

I shake my head again, obstinate. “I’ll go with you.”

“Love… you are exhausted…”

“So are you.”

“My levels of endurance far surpass yours.” He tries to reason but I decide to just ignore him. Sooner or later he’ll get the message. I grab hold of his hand and wrench myself to my feet, trying not to sway and topple back over. Then I just plant myself next to him, staring at the door, waiting for him to stop droning on and get a move on with all the things he says he needs to accomplish before he can rest. 

He falls silent next to me and I can feel his eyes boring into my temple. I keep just as quiet, and continue to look straight ahead as if the castle's giant front door is incredibly fascinating, until a soft sigh pierces the heavy atmosphere. Loki’s lips land in my hair, moving as he speaks in a gently exasperated but at the same time still grudgingly grateful and admiring tone, “You stubborn little wench! Remind me to teach you about the Asgardian law that states that a Prince of the Royal House shall always be obeyed without question or hesitation.”

A tiny smile cracks my lips as I turn to look up at him. “Are you going to lock me in the dungeon for breaking the law?” I tease back tentatively, expecting it to feel wrong; this making-light in the aftermath of what was a very, very dark situation.

“Perhaps,” he whispers, “I do like the idea of you in chains although a dank, dark cell is not the setting I envision. Your beauty requires silken sheets and velveteen, tasseled pillows, bathed in the light of a softly flickering fire…” he trails off looking at me and I can see the desire smoldering in his eyes, the spark slowly receding as he second guesses himself, doubting what he’s saying and the effect it’ll have on me considering the aftermath of… well… everything.

I swallow down my own selfish arousal and the feelings usually evoked by our playful banter, knowing that now is not the time for this. I reach up and trace his chiseled jawline gently with my shaking fingers, trying to convey to him that I feel what he feels but like him it’s mostly a front, something we’re saying and thinking and imagining right now to keep all the dark thoughts at bay. But the dark demands to be let in.

Almost as if to underscore this thought the heavy main portal of the castle suddenly slams open. I jump about a mile and so does Loki who, immediately and instinctively shoves me behind him. But the people who pour in are not foes. They are Asgardians and they bear their crest on their armors, capes, and shields. Odin and Thor are in the lead, both headed directly towards us. I edge closer to Loki and he finds my hand, tangling my fingers with his and holding on as if for dear life.

The next few hours blur for me. We’re constantly surrounded by a whirling tornado of people, swirling, swishing capes, and clanking armor. The smell of sweat and blood is still cloying, clinging to the crush of bodies, and the color scarlet still permeates the room; sticky on swords and lances, helms and gauntleted hands, soaked into fabrics. It’s almost as if all the color seeps out of the room until all I see are shades of black, white, and grey with those splashes of horrible red mixed in. At times I think if there was anything in my stomach I’d have long since expelled it all over the marble floors.

There’s a lot of shouting, yelling, talking, congratulating, questioning; but the words mostly flow in one tired ear and out the other. From the glazed look on Loki’s face I’d say he’s experiencing the same sensation. A few singular moments stand out to me. First, Loki removes the Ego Stone from his person and gives it to his mother. Behind her I can see Odin’s eyes fixed to the glowing diamond-esque gem, alternating between expressions of greed and curiosity, but Frigga closes her fist around it and walks off with nary a glance at her husband. Next the Warriors Three all approach Loki and embrace him; one, the biggest; Volstagg, even picks him up bodily and spins him around several times, until Loki threatens to stab him in the gut unless he be released immediately. Some indeterminable amount of time later Frigga comes back and spirits Loki away from me for a minute. At least I think it’s a minute. It could have been way longer too but by that time I can’t tell anymore. The entire time I’m anxious and high strung, treading from foot to foot, wanting him back with me. I still see him, which is a humungous comfort, standing in a recessed little alcove with Frigga, their heads close, talking. Thor stands nearby, keeping an eye on me, but I can’t muster up the energy to engage in conversation at the moment and he doesn’t try to start one either, thankfully. When Loki returns, his face is somehow different but my muddled mind can’t figure out how right now.

Odin tries several times to ensnare Loki in conversation, or interrogation, or whatever, but each time Thor somehow intervenes, which I can tell surprises and gladdens Loki. That little moment they had earlier seemed more conciliatory than anything else I’ve seven since I’ve been here but they’ve still got a long way to go! One little hug from Odin and a single reciprocation and acceptance from Loki isn’t going to fix years worth of problems. And I know that Loki needs to have a clear head when he finally talks to Odin again otherwise any interaction will just end in more yelling; which it already might anyway, depending on the King’s attitude…

At one point I think I actually nod off for half a second because suddenly Heimdall is standing in front of us all tall, dark, and handsome in his golden armor with the gigantic broadsword in his hand. He wasn’t around a few seconds ago; seems to have quite literally sprouted from the very ground. 

“Heimdall.” Loki greets him cautiously. 

“Loki.” The man replies in that low, slow, soothing voice, that somehow reminds me of the viscuous flow of warm honey. “I thought you would visit me before this…”

“My deepest apologies, Heimdall…” Loki starts, looking pretty guilty, but the big man interrupts him with a deep chuckle and claps a hand on his shoulder. 

“Rest easy, boy. I harbor no I’ll feelings toward you. Not for your denial at affording me the pleasure of your company now, nor for what occurred at our last meeting before your unfortunate exile. Remember, I see all and even then I saw things you could not, blinded as you were, albeit in a different way than I.”

Loki’s shoulders seem to almost slump with relief, all the tension leaving him and I realize with a jolt something I didn’t the first time we met Heimdall on the day we arrived in Asgard: this man means a lot to Loki! I study Heimdall closer now, with renewed interest and alertness.

His eyes, which are a warm, molten golden color turn to me, fixing me with a look that seems to see not through me, but inside me in some way. “Annie.” He says in that calming baritone. “I fear I must apologize to you most of all.”

I blink in surprise. Apologize to _me?_ What in the world for? “Umm… why?” I ask in shy confusion.

“Upon our first meeting I promised you that no harm would come to you on Asgard. I fear this promise has not been well kept.” He reaches out toward me and lightly grazes his thumb over my forehead where a dull throbbing informs me that I most likely scraped it somewhere.

I flinch lightly at the contact, though it’s an internal reaction and not even a shudder makes it to the outside of my body. 

He tilts his head to the side, those curious eyes seeming to almost glow from within as they X-ray me where I stand. “You have experienced darkness.” He says, and it’s a statement, not a question.

Faced with this blunt and, frankly correct, statement I only nod mutely. How could he tell?

“And yet your spirit shines brighter than a hundred suns.”

My eyes widen. I blink hard several times then, because I’m unsure of what to say in reply to this last statement of his, I go back to the first one. “It wasn’t your fault that I got hurt. You couldn’t have been expecting half the intergalactic army to come raining hellfire down on our heads…”

Heimdall smiles then leans toward me slightly. “You, Annie Ellis, will survive anything the Gods throw at you. Even the God of Mischief!” he adds with an amused twinkle in his eye. I can hear Loki chuckling softly behind me while I’m still overwhelmed by what the strange man just said and how he managed to make his last statement tie in so well with everything he said before and all of my replies.

While I ponder Heimdall’s words he and Loki continue their conversation over my head. I tune back in when Loki sighs exhaustedly and Heimdall asks, “You wish to escape our company do you not?”

“Norns yes.” Loki laments. “But I fear our disappearance will be noted. And Odin may be disapproving.”

“Let me deal with your father.” Heimdall says and I can feel Loki twitch ever so slightly at the word _father._ Heimdall does not comment on it, though I’m sure he noticed this too, but continues instead goes on to say, “as for your disappearance being noted, I can think of a distraction, can you not?”

A wry smile twists Loki’s lips. Heimdall nods approvingly, a serene smile on his face. “One more time then, Loki. For old time’s sake.”

Loki huffs an exhausted laugh then lifts one of his hands from my waist, spreads his fingers and twists his wrist slowly in a circular motion, green magic glowing in his palm. I watch with curiosity, wondering what he’s doing. When the shriek echoes from the opposite end of the room I jump, expecting more monsters, explosions, or even the rebirth of the Titan, but I behind me I can feel Loki’s quiet laughter shaking into my body, and in front of me Heimdall is smirking, pleased. 

“Snakes!” a woman’s voice cries and then everyone is scrambling all over themselves to escape the small, writhing bodies that glow with a soft, green, almost invisible light and that suddenly wind themselves between everyone’s feet.

“You have not lost your touch, Loki. Now go. We shall speak soon. I take it you will now visit me?”

Loki nods. “I will, Heimdall. Thank you!” he grasps the golden warrior’s hand for a moment then releases it to pick up mine and pulls me swiftly out of the room through yet another secret passageway who’s entrance has disguised itself as a blank stretch of wall.

As we walk briskly along, the screams behind us slowly subside. “What did you do?” I ask not quite able to supress the tired laughter in my voice.

Loki grins down at me then holds up his hand around which another tiny, glowing snake winds itself. As I watch it vanishes; dissolves in a shimmer of green light.

“It was an old prank Heimdall allowed me to pull whenever council meetings, or lessons, feasts or general assemblages of became to boring for me. We would disappear in the resulting, scrambling panic and retreat to the Bifrost where he would explain the mysteries of space to me and show me the many different galaxies and stars and nebulae, teaching me their names and stories in lore. Knowledge which I later would impart on my mother, though I’m sure she already possessed it. But she always indulged me with interest nonetheless.”

“What did she want you for earlier?” I ask, stumbling slightly over my tired feet in the semi darkness. Loki’s hands steady me automatically.

“She performed the same spell as she did on you earlier, on me.” He says almost nonchalantly.

I halt. “You can feel me now too?” I ask incredulous, wondering why he hasn’t shared this momentous revelation before now.

He looks down at me with so much softness and tender sweetness in his face that it makes my heart constrict and then beat double time. “I always feel you. This is just… inconceivably even more intense.”

He starts walking again when I make no reply and I follow, letting him lead, trusting in the surety of his steps and his knowledge of the castle as I mull over his words and their meaning. We’re truly connected now. As much as two people could ever, ever be!

We emerge into a hallway I don’t recognize but judging from the view outside the window it’s miles away from the entrance hall. Loki seems to know where he is because he leads us on without !any hesitation whatsoever and sooner than I’d think possible in this huge castle we arrive outside his rooms. By this point all of the small surges of adrenaline his prank and his revelation gave me have worn off and I’m swaying on my feet as I totter inside.

When the door shuts behind us Loki leans his back against the dark mahogany, his entire tall body sagging tiredly. Even though all I want to do is crawl into his giant bed, which I swear is calling out to me from the next room in seductive tones, I go up to him instead and wrap my arms around his middle, feeling again that unnatural, unyielding hardness of his armor. I realize with a pang that no matter how imposing and handsome he looks in it I want it off. I want to feel him; his softness, his give, his skin and his body; _him!_ My fingers fumble at his sides where leather strings tie the two halves of golden plate together, attempting to untie it. He realizes what I’m trying to do and gently nudges my hands aside with his own, finishing the task that my fingers were too shaky and clumsy to do. I wonder vaguely why he’s not taking it off with magic like he normally does with his clothing.

“It has been warded against magical tampering of any kind.” He answers my unspoken question. “Including any from my own hands. It prevents any sort of attempts at tampering or sabotage by my enemies.” 

The two halves of armor clatter to the ground and as soon as it’s off I launch forward and wrap myself around him. He’s still wearing armoured plates on his arms and legs but with his chest free I at least feel like I can actually hold _him_ again instead of a tin can. 

He maneuvers around me, removing the rest of his armour then picks me up and carries me to his bed, laying down with me tucked into his chest, not caring about the fact that we are both still grimy and filthy and would very much benefit from a shower.

I hug him close, expecting to fall into exhausted unconsciousness the second my head hits the pillow but I don’t. The days events play on a repeat loop through my mind’s eye again and again. He horror, the fear, the blood, the death, all the time I thought I was going to die, or all the times I thought Loki was going to die. The endless hours in which I believed that Frigga _had_ died. The young soldier who _did_ die. In my arms. The final battle. The nuclear reactor that was Loki under the powered influence of the Ego Stone. Everything. It plays and plays, rewinding and starting again each time it ends, and feeling even more horrific and painful every time it restarts. I don’t cry or freak out again like I’d expect, though. Instead I just lie there, paralyzed, eyes closed, watching the horror play out behind my closed eyelids, my heart banging away madly in my chest, locked in a nightmare of a different kind; a waking one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> W00t.  
> Next chapter is done too so I'll post that soon. ACTUALLY! I PROMISE!!! and after that I have 2-3 more chapters planned and then it's done. What?!  
> I should be able to get it all done sooner-ish because I have less of a hectic, crazy schedule this semester. Here's hoping!🤞🏻  
> Hope this chapter was ok. Thank you for reading and for still being here after that ridiculously long hiatus!  
> I offer thee fresh pancakes as a thank! 🥞🥞🥞 (as you can see I'm still super weird and sleep deprived! Heeeey!!!)


	66. How Can It Just Be Over?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for more angst and survivor's guilt.  
> Also on a really random, rambling tangent I noticed this thing happening and I cracked myself up with my own explanation. Basically whenever I get a comment on this story like 95% of the time I get it at night and see it sometime in the morning. But like I never get comments during the day. So I'm like are only Europeans reading my fic? Why is no one commenting during the day. Well probably because isnt that the perfect time to read fanfiction? At 3 in the morning? The number of times I've done that I'm surprised that it took me that long to figure out. Anyway that just my random thought of the day that I thought I'd share with you all for no reason whatsoever.  
> On to the story.

Loki must think that I’ve gone to sleep because after an indeterminate amount of time he carefully disentangles himself from my octopus like grip and slides out of bed. I feel his lips whisper across my forehead for the briefest moment, then his warm presence beside and around me vanishes. With herculean effort I manage to wrest myself out of my catatonic state and peel my eyelids open, worry perforating me, wondering what’s wrong. 

I don’t see Loki anywhere and so I climb out of bed and go in search of him, my worry slowly morphing into fear. My frantically beating heart calms somewhat when I come out into the living room and see him. He’s standing on his balcony, leaning on the stone balustrade, looking out at the city spread out below. His back is to me so I can’t see what expression he wears on his face but his shoulders betray both a stiff tension and a sad, defeated slump, both of which immediately ratchet up my worry again.

I pad outside to join him in the crisp night air carefully wrapping my arms around him from behind. He jumps. This more than anything sends my already sky high worry rocketing even further up into the anxiety atmosphere because I have _never_ managed to surprise Loki like this. He _always_ hears me coming; is always aware of me, whether because of his superior senses or because of our connection I’m not sure. But now… on some level I’ve actually startled him.

He looks down at me and I realize that on some subconscious level he did know I was there or at least instinctively sensed that I wasn’t a threat because otherwise he probably would have thrown me over the balcony or something, as high strung and on edge as he probably still is from all the stress of the last couple of hours. Days. _Weeks!_ Instead he wraps his arm around me and draws me in front of him, resting his chin atop my head. “Did I wake you?” he asks gently, thumbs rubbing slow circles into my skin where his hands rest on my upper arms. His voice cracks strangely.

I shake my head. “I wasn’t asleep.”

He’s silent for a few prolonged moments, shifting his head around until it’s his cheek that presses against the crown of my head, rubbing slightly back and forth as if he’s a cat. “What are you thinking?” he finally asks.

I shrug. “Just about everything that went down today.”

“Me too.” He sighs and still his voice sounds strange, strangled, as if he’s fighting back tears.

I try to turn around in his arms to look at him but his fingers tighten slightly keeping me facing front. “Loki…” I say softly.

“Don’t, love. I… I do not want you to… to see this… me… like this…”

“Loki…” I beg again quietly but intently. “Stop it. You know you don’t need to hide from me. Not anything. Ever. So please… don’t hide from me now. Not now. Not here. Not with this. _Please…”_

His body shudders and bows forward until his face is pressed into the juncture of my neck and shoulder, buried in my dusty, gritty hair. I try again to turn in his arms and this time he lets me though he doesn’t look up. I won’t force him into anything and so I instead cradle his dark head to me, feeling the dust that coats his own hair, turning it into a tangled mat. “Why?” I whisper. “Why are you hiding? What are you afraid of, Loki? What can I do?”

“Oh, love…” his breath blows warm against my throat. “I am not… afraid… I… well, perhaps I am. But not for the reason you think. I…” he trails off with a defeated sigh, tightening his grip on me even more.

His indecision and searching for words hurts my heart. He’s always so sure of himself; of his silver tongue that always knows the right thing to say, and now that he’s unsure of how to articulate himself to me it slices into me worse than a sword could.

“You know I won’t think that whatever you’re thinking or feeling makes you weak or anything like that.” I take a stab into the dark, guessing at what may be bothering him.

He looks up but tips his head back to look up at the twin moons in the sky which still serves to hide his facial expression from me. “It is not that, my love…” he looks to the side over the city but his eyes are closed. “With anyone else what you say would be what I’d fear in their perception of me. But you… you have always seen me; seen right through me. I know you would never think me weak for the pain, the sadness, the anger, and the grief left behind by the battle. I know you would never judge me for them… but love… those are not the emotions I fear you seeing.”

I reach out and urge his head toward me. He allows me to turn it but his eyes are still closed, the rest of his face wiped carefully blank. It’s not his mask that he’s showing me, it’s just his face with his feelings rigidly controlled, something that he’s damnably good at doing. It’s his eyes that would betray what he truly feels, and it’s his eyes that truly define his mask if he wears it. They become emotionless like marbles, dark, shiny, and cold when he dons the face he usually shows the rest of the world. But when he's _not_ wearing his mask, even when his face is expressionless his eyes show me what he's feeling when his other gestures don’t. But now that his eyes are closed I can’t see what’s throwing him into such turmoil; what is going on in his heart, and if he is in fact hiding it from me.

“Then what?” I ask. 

He drops his forehead to mine. His fingers tightening even further on my waist.

“You know you don’t have to tell me, but you also know that I’ll listen. Right?”

He nods, I can feel the movement against my own forehead. “I wonder if you already know…” he muses softly. “You should sense it… with our connection.”

I lick my lips, turning my attention inwards, carefully probing along the links of our connection. “I do feel it… something. But you’re blocking me somehow and I don’t want to pry or dig into your privacy.”

“I have no secrets from you. If I _am_ blocking you it is instinctive and not intentional.” He says, stroking my cheek. His eyes open. And with his eyes he opens his soul and I can see and feel the emotion he’s been trying to hide from me, what he’s so afraid of showing me.

“You liked it.” I whisper, dropping my hand from his face. For a brief moment I see dejection, sorrow, and fear in his eyes as he thinks I’m moving away, but when I instead take his hand in mine, relief and tender love flood back into their sad green depths. As well as shame… A shame so great and thick it threatens to choke him.

“I did…” he admits, looking down. “Does that disgust you? Frighten you?”

I shake my head vigorously. “No. Never. You were a warrior before we met. You’re a warrior still. I get it. I do…”

He swallows hard. “I do not enjoy killing. I swear it to you. Yet the fire of battle… you are right, I am a warrior. Not of the same mettle as my brother but it is in my blood nonetheless.” He pauses, brings up his hand the fingers of which are still entwined with mine and strokes the backs of his across my cheek. “But no fire, none of the most heated battle could ignite in me the flames that your love does. And no fever of war is more prevalent in my blood than you are.”

“I felt it too…” I whisper, now taking my turn at looking away ashamed. I feel his questioning gaze and reluctantly elaborate. “That feeling that you’re having trouble describing to me… not _joy_ or enjoyment or whatever; but still a… thrill I guess in a weird way, of killing. Not a good thrill, but not exactly a bad one either... But yeah, when I… stabbed that one… creature– being, through the heart when he was gonna stab you. I felt it too. The power that came with it. Taking a life. The horror behind it but also the… I don’t know…” I look up at him then, expecting, like he did a few moments ago, to see disgust on his face. But what I see is understanding, grief, and more of that fierce love. 

“But whatever I felt you must have felt a million times more.” I add on. “You were there all day, you saw them die, your people. And… Loki, I’m so sorry. So… so many people. I don’t know… what… what now? It’s over. But is it really? How can it be over when so many are dead? After everything we’ve been through? You? Them? How… how can it suddenly just be… done? Everything that got destroyed, everything that we lost, everything that happened, all the people who died, does it all just mean nothing now? Will it be forgotten? How could it just be over? _How?”_ my voice is rising in volume and pitch as tears spark in my eyes and my breath shudders and rattles in my chest.

Loki’s arms tighten around me, pulling me into his chest, one hand coming up to cup the back of my head, holding it against his chest, my ear pressed right over his heart. I can feel and hear the steady thump, thump, thump beneath it, reminding me that against all the odds he is alive! And so am I.

“Shhhhh, darling, sh, sh. I know… I know it makes no sense. Life, death, loss– why were we allowed to be lucky while right now half of Asgard is grieving?! Why was I allowed to keep you when so many other lost their reason for existence? I cannot give you the answers you seek, love. But you are not the only one who asks them… all I can tell you is perhaps meaningless in the face of all this greater tragedy; I love you. I love you more than anything in this universe and through this darkness that faces us now despite the darkness we have already been through, throughout it all you have been my light and the thing I have been fighting for.”

I swallow hard, feeling a lump the size of Texas in my throat. “I love you too…” I say in an uninspired answer to his passionate speech. “So much… I love you, Loki.”

“And I you.” He whispers into my hair. 

“I thought I’d feel relieved…” I say looking up at him, his face swimming behind the film of water that coats my eyes. “You know, once it was all over. I thought I’d be relieved. Glad. But I just feel… I don’t know… empty. Drained. And I think if I start feeling relief I’ll feel guilty, because why should I be relieved when so many are gone and half the city is in ruins?”

“I believe you Midgardians call this survivor’s guilt…” Loki muses, brushing my filthy hair back from my face and tucking it behind my ears. “And it is normal. But love, take it from me, draw from your own past experiences; do not bottle up your feelings no matter how confusing. You must feel them no matter how much of a myriad of mixed ones you feel. I will be here to support you through it all…”

“And I’ll be here for you.” I whisper back, burrowing back into his chest feeling overwhelmed with my love for him even as I feel that guilt at being still able and allowed to feel this love when right now there’s probably countless Asgardians who’ll never again hold their loved ones and tell them what they mean to them.

“I want to visit them…” I mumble into his chest. “The family of the young soldier who… who I saw…” I can’t choke out the rest of the words. A fresh flood of tears cascades down my cheeks as I try to finish. “But I don’t even know his name.”

Loki’s hand gently pets and strokes over my hair and back. “I shall find out for you. I promise, love. And we shall go see them.”

I swallow hard and press even closer into his warm, solid form, trying to imprint the face of the boy into my mind, so that I never forget him, that young boy who died, who’s hand I held as he died trying to give him whatever scant comfort I could through the pain and fear. God, I hope I was able to give him some comfort!

We stand on the balcony for a long time, safe in each others arms, each one of us following our own thoughts, yet somehow having our thoughts still intertwine because of our connection. They loop from guilt, to relief, to sadness, back to guilt, to anger that all of this had to ever happen, to loss, to love and gratitude that we both survived and are here and came out the other side together, and back to guilt once more. Eventually Loki tips my face up and kisses me long and hard. 

It’s a calm kiss; tranquil and very PG. He’s just pouring his love into me, not trying to get anything started. I stand in his hold, my fingers lightly gripping his wrists were they cup my cheeks and kiss him back. When he pulls back he rests his forehead against mine and takes a deep breath. With his inhale I can feel through our connection all the bad feelings rising; welling up inside him, all his guilt, fury, sadness, the grief and pain from today, from a few weeks ago when he had to send me away, to those 48 hours when he thought he lost me, the six days I was unconscious in the hospital, and ranging all the way back to his imprisonment and torture by Thanos, his attack on New York, his time in the Compound, and even beyond to the events that transpired here on Asgard that triggered his suicide jump into the Ether and his attempts to take over the monarchy. With that one inhale he lets himself feel it all, all the bad feelings those memories evoked over the years, and I feel it too, muted within me, a reflection of his soul. Then, with one long, endless exhale he lets it go. Lets it all go. And with it he lets my own negative feelings go; pulls them right out of me along the connection that binds our souls and expels them through his lips and mine because unconsciously I, too was taking that deep breath in sync with him.

Of course the memories are still there, in both of us. They’re a part of who we are now. They’ve shaped us for years, brought us together in a way, closer, and helped define just how much we mean to each other. But the crushing weight of them lifts, leaving behind a tentative sense of peace.

His green eyes glow at me in the darkness when he opens them. “How did you do that?” I ask.

“Acceptance.” He admits. “I accepted that we cannot change our pasts but that no matter the darkness the biggest light came from them nonetheless. You. Us. And though we should never forget we can move one. We will move on. We have done it before, you and I.”

I nod feeling more of that peace flowing through me. And oddly this time I don’t feel guilty about it because this isn’t necessarily a positive emotion which I would right now feel guilt for. And it’s not a negative emotion tearing me down either. It’s just neutral. Calm. Still. It settles me in a way I don’t think I’ve been settled for years now.

Loki takes my hand and leads me back inside. He cocoons us back into his bed, hugging me close once more all while I still feel the calmness sloshing through me. He feels it too, I can tell.

“It’ll be easier this time, I think.” I whisper to him when I eventually feel his breathing slow down and even out. “Moving on. Because before we mostly had to do it on our own. But now we’re together amd we get to do it together.”

At first I think he fell asleep because he doesn’t reply for the longest time but then he gently kisses the back of my neck and breathes into the skin there, “We were always together. I think you were a part of me even before we met or became connected. You are what has been missing from my life all these years. You are all that I have been searching for.”

“So are you!” I reply somewhat lamely, but I know that he feels just how much his words meant to me and how much they mean too when I give them back.

With his warm breath against the back of my neck, and his arms tight around me, enveloped by both the warmth and comfort of his body as well as his thoughts and love, I close my eyes and go to sleep for the first time in a long, long time truly at peace and completely unafraid of what the night or the next day might bring. Because once again everything’s going to be different now. But this time it will be a good different. I can feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess kinda sorta a fillerish chapter. Lil bit of fluff and a whole lots emotions that needed to be addressed. Not sure how I really feel about it to be honest, but it's there now so... ya.  
> Oh, did you notice that the story now has a defined number of chapters? Yup yup. We almost to the end of this wild wild ride. Isnt that crazy. And I do in fact have a large portion of it written so it should all be up sometime in the next week/week and a halfish. That's really crazy. I'm not ready to let this all go... but on the other hand I've got a whole bunch more stories rattling around in my brain and in various chunks and stages of finished and in progress on my computer so... new adventures I guess. I have a pretty good idea of what story i want to post next but maybe I'll write a little synopsis of each at some point and then you guys can tell me which sounds the most interesting to you... we'll see. For now thanks so much for reading, as always.  
> Also I'm still going through amd finally getting around to answering comments that I received and didmt answer during my impromptu break. I'm not ignoring you all I swear. Please keep leaving comments if you feel like it. I do read them and I will reply and every single one means the world to me! ❤💕


	67. I've Loved You For A Thousand Years; I'll Love You For A Thousand More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long chapter. Yaaay.  
> Not really any TRIGGER WARNINGS unless maybe short mention of a funeral and some talk about death.  
> This wasn't a chapter I'd originally planned on writing but here it is anyway and glad that it is!  
> Enjoy.

  
Two weeks after the battle I convince Loki to take me back to the Yggdrasil tree. I’m not entirely sure why he was reluctant to go at first but now that we’re on our way I can feel his antsy and anxious energy slowly calming with every step our horses take. As we ride side by side in comfortable silence, and as the beauty of this forest, of pure, undisturbed nature and all the accompanying sounds ebbs and flows around us I reflect, as I so often do, back on the past weeks. And maybe it’s the fact that each step of our horse’s hooves is taking us closer to the biggest, most splendid source of peace and calm in the universe, but I haven’t been able to remember everything with this level of clarity since, well… never.

So many things have happened since Loki and I stood and hugged and commiserated and remembered on his balcony overlooking war torn Asgard. The morning after when we both woke from a fitful sleep, haggard and somehow more tired than before, with pale skin and circles smudged under our eyes, the first thing we did was bathe. I thought it might help to make me feel a little better but it was like the dust and grime that had coated my skin had sunk inside me and settled over my heart, leaving it heavy and gritty, each beat tangible in a dull, throbbing pain throughout my body. 

We’d gone to see Odin as soon as we had both pretended to eat some breakfast, but had mostly pushed food around our plates. In contrast to the last time we had been summoned before his Majesty in the throne room, Odin had not been sitting high and mighty and imposing on his gilded chair, but had been waiting for us at the foot of the stairs that led up to the raised dais from which he ruled. He had embraced Loki again, who had stood just as stiffly as last time, though I had been able to see his eyes softening just slightly. He hadn’t let go of my hand. This time Odin had also acknowledged me, reaching out to shake my hand; my left since Loki stoically refused to relinquish my right. Afterwards Thor, Heimdall and a bunch of older men and women had joined us. The council, Loki had whispered to me out of the corner of his mouth. What followed was a lot of talk about the aftermath of the battle, funding for rebuilding the city, a mass funeral ceremony to honor all the dead, how to dispose of the bodies of the enemies, and how to strengthen Asgard’s defenses in general. There was a heated debate about whether their defences were strong enough already, and questions about why the force field had failed. I amazed myself by actually speaking up at this point to tell them that the force field hadn’t really failed, at least not in the way they all seemed to think. Then with twenty pairs of eyes on me, including the beady black ones of Odin’s two raven’s, I told them in a squeaky, nervous, little voice all about my afternoon with Frigga in the Room of the Orb and our subsequent flight through the castle.

After that it was Loki’s turn at story time and he told them about how he’d found the Ego Stone originally, how and where he’d hidden it, and our journey to retrieve it. He also told them about me saving his life which earned me a round of very incredulous and admiring looks, which I didn’t really think I deserved.

I think the most notable part of that morning was by far how everyone seemed to truly, not only listen to everything Loki had to say, but also how they seemed to seriously take his words into account. Everyone; even Odin, which after what Loki had always told me, was something new and heretofore greatly unexperienced by him. 

A few days later we’d gone to visit Jareth's parents. Loki had been true to his word and somehow found out what the young soldier’s name had been and who his family was. It had been a tearful afternoon, but his parents had been glad to meet me, grateful that I had helped ease their son’s passage out of this world into the next one, and so fiercely convinced that he was now feasting gloriously in the great halls of Valhalla that we had left with me feeling strangely lighter and surprisingly comforted.

Then there had been the funeral. It had been a huge affair, though somber at first, with hundreds of little boats being pushed off the lake’s shores into the depths of the water to float off into the endless reaches of the Ether. The twang of a thousand bow strings had sounded almost musical as the archers sent into the night skies what had seemed like a million flaming arrows, which had miraculously each found their home in one of the little ships, setting all of them ablaze. For a whole it had looked like the entire lake was ablaze which had been both a beautiful sight and a harrowing one because it represented just how many lives had been lost. When the light from the last fire had died down its flickering far on the horizon of space, I had found out that any momentous Asgardian occasion no matter how tragic, was not a momentous occasion without copious amounts of food and alcohol. As the evening wore on and Thor got drunker and drunker, I felt my own mood lift along with everyone else’s, as the weight of grief rose off all our shoulders and up into the starry sky to twirl with the smoke from the huge bonfire that was roasting what looked like a hundred suckling pigs and two dozen oxen at once.

I’d been a bit tipsy myself; Asgardians don’t seem to believe in serving anything other than beer and wine at feasts, and I’d abandoned my chair and climbed right into Loki’s lap to straddle him head on, something I would never have done surrounded by hundreds of witnesses if I had been sober.

Loki had laughed and pulled me closer, but not taken advantage of my inebriated state, simply been content with my proximity. I’d looked up at the sky, noting absently that the two moons were now both slim sickles, as thin as the grooves left behind by my fingernails that I had dug into Loki’s neck as I’d attempted to sloppily kiss him a few moments before. I think that was the point I fell asleep, or passed out drunk at because I don’t really remember much after. A gentle swaying sensation as I was carried, I think. Being tucked in with a soft, lingering kiss on my brow. And then the next morning when I’d had a bitch of a hungover headache, which Loki had cured with a laugh and a potion that tasted like cinnamon.

The time between those big events was mostly peppered with lots of silences in which Loki and I would sit as close as possible; always sharing the same space whether it was a huge banquet hall style bench, a sofa, a loveseat, or even a regular chair; always touching, always within each others sights. We’d gone to have afternoon tea with Frigga everyday, always a light pleasant affair, made even more so by the courtesy and charm, and absolute pure love exuded by this wonderful woman, as well as different, delicious, delectable baked goods. A few times she’d pulled Loki away from me for several minutes for intense conversations after each of which he’d returned brooding and lost in thought. I hadn’t pushed, knowing that he would open up to me when he felt ready. 

The days had passed in the blink of an eye or in endlessly slow bouts of time depending on when I looked back at them. But now, now as we ride to the place I’ve been, for some inexplicable reason, anxious to return to ever since the first time, now it seems like everything that happened was all one long, long day. Is this how Loki feels with his longer lifespan? That a matter of weeks was just the length of a day; an hour? Weird.

He reaches out to me, wordlessly taking my hand in his, rubbing his thumb absently over the back of my hand as our horses plod on. When I look at him he meets my eyes with a small, serene smile. “I love you.” He says, his voice a soft whisper carried over to me by the same fingers of wind that rustle the millions of leaves stretched like a great vaulted ceiling above our heads.

“I love you too.” I reply, slightly confused as to where this sudden declaration is coming from but not needing an excuse to say the words to him. Something in my gut; or maybe it’s something I feel in Loki through the links of our souls, tells me that something is about to happen. Something huge. Something wonderful. Incredible. Life changing. I study his face closely but while it’s open and calm, it still gives nothing away.

The tree robs me of my breath just as much as it did last time. Either I’ve forgotten just how big and amazing it is or I didn’t fully appreciate it last time, but the sheer circumference of the massive trunk blows my mind, and when I tip my head back to look up, up, up towards the crown, all I see are clouds with the tree disappearing in their fluffy, white midst. “Hi Tree.” I say breathlessly and the leaves give a rustle almost as if the tree is saying _hey_ back. I smile.

Loki, ever the gallant gentleman helps me from my horse and then stands beside me fidgeting in a distinctly nervous way. When I look up at him, my brow furrowed, I see that he is also biting his lower lip. 

“There is something I need to ask you, love…” he starts and the strange quaver in his voice only further cements my confusion. Why is he so jittery? I’ve never seen him like this. What’s going on?

Inanely my brain presents me with the only, to it, viable option. Is he about to propose? WTF! I shake the thought away. Just because this is how the man acts before popping the question in every shitty romance novel I’ve ever read or every dumb chick flick I’ve ever seen, does _not_ mean that Loki is about to ask me to _marry_ him! Does that concept even exist on Asgard the way it does on Earth? I don’t even know. And besides, would he really want to marry _me?_ A human? And him; the literal embodiment of Alien Magic Prince Charming. I don’t think so!

He’s staring at me. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?” I say my voice slightly high pitched in my attempt at appearing blasé and not like I was just having yet another self depreciating internal monologue-freak-out. 

He studies me for several more seconds, while I smile at him like an idiot, then twines our fingers together and sets off through the twisting, looping roots, on a slow, strolling trajectory toward the massive trunk.

We walk in silence for a while, until finally Loki speaks up. “I doubt it has escaped your notice, love; you are so very perceptive after all…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. More nervous ticks. What is going on? Is he breaking up with me? 

As this rather opposing theory to my earlier one takes hold of my thoughts, cold terror washes through me and my stupid brain immediately gloms onto it, as always choosing to believe the bad to be much more likely than the really good. Curse my low self esteem! Like seriously!

“What have I noticed?” I force myself to ask, my voice scratching across the distance between us, as my heart desperately points out to my frying-itself-in-self-hatred brain that Loki is still holding my hand tightly. Would he do that if he were breaking up with me?! My brain fires back that he totally would if he were letting me down easy and/or trying to keep me from bolting. 

Shut up, brain!

“That I have routinely been sequestering myself with my mother for private conversations…” he says, taking a peek at me.

I nod mutely. I did notice. Has she been convincing him to break up with me? Would Frigga really do that? I don’t know; can’t tell logical from irrational right now with my heart and brain embroiled in turmoil. 

“She has told me of a spell…” he trails off again looking up into the tree as if for guidance. “A spell she has had to research intently and at first was unsure if it were even real, so ancient is it.”

A spell? What spell? What’s going on here? 

“A spell that only works if the parties involved are bonded through true love.”

Bonded through true love? That doesn’t sound like he’s breaking up with me. Unless he’s trying to tell me that this spell, whatever it is, won’t work for us because his love for me isn’t true anymore..?

I just look up at him unsure of what to even say. Then, because I’m not looking where I’m going, my foot catches on a protruding root and I go sprawling forwards. Loki’s hand tightens around mine, as mine tries to let go to catch myself in my impending impact with the ground. He pulls back on my arm, spinning me around mid-momentum to go crashing against his solid chest, his other arm winding around me and anchoring me securely there. “Are you alright?” his voice asks in my ear.

I nod, face buried in his shirt. 

He eases me away but keeps a tight hold on me. “Are you doubting whether the spell will work?” I ask, voice catching in my throat.

“Doubting if it will work? Love, there is no truer thing in the universe than my love for you. How can you still harbor thoughts as to the contrary? No, there is no doubt in my mind that if we choose to perform it, it will work exactly as intended. However…” he breaks off again, pressing his lips together as he stares down at me with an intensity and indecision such as I’ve never seen on him.

“Norns, this is selfish…” he whispers, apparently to himself.

Mollified and reassured as to his feelings for me, I reach up to cup his cheek, once again wondering; although this time without panic, what could possibly be putting him into such a state. And why does he think it’s selfish? “What does it do?” 

He takes a deep breath. Then another. And one more. Then he speaks, softly, notes of his weirdly unsure mindset still ringing through his voice. “This spell would tie your life to mine. As long as I remain alive, you would not age.”

 _Oh..._ I stare at him dumbfounded. Well that came out of nowhere. Not what I was expecting _at all._ Tie my life to his? As long as he remains alive? “But isn’t… isn’t your natural lifespan like 5,000 years?” I ask quietly, still trying to wrap my head around the enormity of what he’s just proposed, which I think I’m just now starting to truly grasp.

“Give or take a few decades.” He says softly, watching me intently, gauging my reaction. He picks up my hand in his, holding it tightly. “I know I have no right to take this from you, my love. Your mortality, your humanity in a sense. It is not fair of me to want you to do this spell with me simply so I never have to live a day without you. I am selfish, love, I have told you that many times. But I do not want you to feel pressured by me. Every day I have spent with you thus far is a gift, and every day I shall be granted with you in future will be another blessing, no matter how many or how few it may be. I thank all the Gods from all the different realms for every moment I am allowed to love you and even if this moment were our last together I would not regret a single second. For each I spent with you is a treasure beyond compare. But I would never deign to take your choices; your free will, away from you.”

I blink at him rapidly. In one recessed corner of my mind I understand what he’s saying and I’m grateful for it because he knows how much my free will and making my own choices means to me since both were once so brutally stolen from me. But honestly this isn’t what my brain is obsessing over at the moment. I’m still trying to wrap it around the idea; the concept of 3,800 years, which assuming that Loki lives a natural life and dies of old age will be about how long his life will still be. And so will mine if we go through with this spell. 3,800 years! Into the future. 3,800 years into the past was around 1800 BC. What was happening back then? The Roman Empire? No that was way later; like over a _thousand_ years later still. The Bronze Age I think, the Shang Dynasty, Hammurabi. Whoa! And I could see all that but in the opposite direction. I could be alive to see empires collapse, see the rise of new civilizations, technologies… When was that Doctor Who episode where Nine takes Rose to that space station to watch the Earth explode? No, I think that was 5 billion years in the future, so I won’t see _that._ But still… the things I _will_ get to see and experience and do– it’s insane. Incredible. And I could do it; all of it, by Loki’s side.

My mind now switches tack, for the first time considering that which I have so far not allowed myself to consider. My up ‘til now invariably unavoidable demise _centuries_ before Loki's. It had fleetingly crossed my mind a few times but I had banished the thoughts because they had been to painful, scary, and incomprehensible. At first it hadn’t even occurred to me because it was always so easy to forget that Loki is an alien; practically immortal, at least compared to me. And when I had finally realized what it meant I had refused to think about it, to want to imagine what it would do to him to lose me after such a short time. To me it would have been most of my lifetime that I’d gotten to spend with him; to him it probably would have seemed like barely a single year… I guess eventually I would have been forced to consider the inevitable, at the very latest when I was a withered old crone and Loki still young looking enough to pass as my son, or even my grandson. What a weird thought. Scary. Kinda gross…

It frightens me suddenly, this thought that the way things are right now I will eventually have to leave him behind. He will have nothing but the memory of me, fleeting as I passed through his life so swiftly and briefly. And then he’d be all alone again, just as he says he’s been for hundreds of years before. For hundreds more years to come. The loneliness having only been interrupted for barely a single hundred years.

I can’t bear it. Just the thought of leaving him, of hurting him like that, even in a way as choice-less as through death pierces my heart. I would never leave him. He’s a part of me and I’m a part of him. And yes, my own selfishness is there too. I want to spend eternity with him, or however close to it I can get. Even though it is my lifespan 80 years, 90, 100 isn’t enough. Could never be enough. Nothing short of forever would ever be enough. And the closest thing I can get to forever is apparently around 3,800 years. 

So really there’s no question as to what my answer will be, is there?

“Love?” Loki’s quiet voice pierces through my spinning thoughts. 

“Will I be immortal?”

“In a sense. As much as mortality is defined by humans’ average lifespans. But you will still be you, as frail as spun glass in my hands, and just as breakable. You will still be susceptible to such things as accidents such as being thrown from a cliff or run through by a sword; none of which shall ever happen, not under my watch. But in those senses I too am mortal. A sword in the heart would kill me. As would a great fall, although one far greater than any you could survive. But in those senses we both are entirely mortal within the parameters of our species' individual biological makeups. You simply would not age. Or you would age at the same rate I do. And since if one converted your human years into Asgardian years we are roughly the same age, that would mean that our natural lifespans would be quite close in lengths as well.”

“Seriously? We’re the same age? When did you figure that out?”

“Quite a while ago. It simply never came up in conversation before now. In truth I kept waiting for you to one day breach the subject of our vastly different life expectancies and what it would mean for us. But you never did.”

“I think I was too afraid too, and too much in denial. I just didn’t want to think about it. That one day I’d have to leave you.”

“It is not about me, love. It is about you…”

“But it _is_ about you. You’re part of me remember?! And all I have to do is imagine if the roles were reversed. If it was almost 100% guaranteed that you would die before I did and then I’d have to live thousands more years without you. I can’t even imagine it; how much it would hurt. Even thinking about it now hurts so bad. And I don’t want you to hurt ever. Never again. I’d say I would rather die, but that kind of defeats the whole purpose, doesn’t it?”

One corner of his mouth twitches up in a tiny smile at my feeble attempt at humor, then his face grows serious again. “I want you to make this choice for _you;_ for yourself. 4,000 years is a very long time, especially to a human who has barely even seen 24 cycles of the sun. I understand that you would consider me and my feelings in this, as would I were our roles reversed. Bit I need you to be absolutely certain that this is what you want; not just what _you_ think _I_ want.”

I reach out and place one hand on either side of his face, leaning in close until we’re almost nose to nose and shaking him slightly with each word I now speak. “When will you get it through your head? There is _nothing_ in the _universe_ I want more than you! I want you for as long as I can have you and anything that will prolong my time with you is something I will chose without a doubt or second guess.”

His eyes are slowly swirling pits of utter, tender love. “You will outlive everyone you know.” He reminds me softly. “Your family. Your friends.”

I nod, pressing my lips together. Yes, that knowledge is painful. But not as much as the alternative. “But not you. I won’t ever lose you. And you’ll never lose me.”

He takes a long, deep breath. “Are you certain?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything before. But if it gives you peace of mind I’ll tell you that I have some selfish motives too. I want to see the future, I want to live a super long life, keep exploring the world, keep living. And trust me, with my past, that’s saying something because for so long I just went from one day to the next not caring if I never woke up in the morning. But now I do. And you’re a big part of that. I want to wake up on a million more mornings with you, go through a million more days with you, fall asleep beside you a million more times. Because I’ve finally found the place where I belong. It’s with you. Always and forever.”

His eyes slide closed as an utter look of peace and happiness settles on his face. I don’t believe I have ever seen him this… content. “You will stay with me? Truly?”

I can’t believe how absolutely disbelieving and filled with wonder he sounds. I throw myself forward, taking him at least moderately by surprise, because the breath leaves him in a huff as he lets himself fall backward onto the mossy ground, one arm coming around me to band me tightly against his chest. When his eyes open they sparkle with indescribable joy, relief, and just so much complete and pure love that it seems impossible for all that feeling to be contained in one being.

“Of course I’m going to stay with you, you idiot. Haven’t I already stayed with you through trans-universal travel?! But the question is will _you_ stay with _me?_ You don’t think you might get bored of my mundane humanity in, oh, say 600 years or so?” I’m teasing mostly but there _is_ an underlying sense of insecurity to my words too, because I still cannot fathom that someone as enigmatic and fascinating as Loki, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, Master of Magic, would really ever be with… me. And the insecure parts of me that Loki’s love is slowly helping to bury and banish rear their ugly heads once more and screech that he will get bored of my utter mediocrity sooner or later and leave me wandering the world alone for centuries to come.

He grabs my chin between his fingers, harder than I’m used to from him, but not tight enough to hurt in any way, and tilts my face up to his, holding it in place when I try to lower it again. “I shall never get bored of you. I shall never fall out of love with you. It would be more likely that I voluntarily saw off my own arm than that I would ever send you away or banish you from my heart. It will never happen. You are the most wondrous and captivating thing I have ever beheld and every moment with you I hold my breath in anticipation of what you will do next. Do you understand me, you utterly exasperating, self depreciating, beautiful little creature? I shall _never_ tire of you!”

I just nod mutely. My heart and soul believe him entirely. It’s just my stubborn brain… but I can ignore that, and hopefully one day it’ll believe him too.

“So what do we do?” I ask, wanting to do this now, to tie myself to him in this way as soon as I possibly can, if not sooner, now that I know the possibility exists.

He sobers, pulling back to study me intensely, probably determining if I’m really ready. “We do not need to perform the spell now…” he says softly, tucking my wild tumble of hair behind my ear. “We can wait. This tree will be here eternally and we can return after you have had more time to think about this prospect and to truly, fully get used to it.”

“I’ve thought about it. I’m used to it. I want it. We’re here. Let’s do it.”

He watches me for long seconds, then fluidly sits up, swinging me around and rising to his feet with me in his arms. He sets me down but keeps both arms around me, locked at the wrist in the small of my back to make sure the length of my body stays pressed to his. I tilt my head back and look up at him. “Don’t tell me this ancient and most rare of spells requires intercourse to be consummated?” I say with a grin.

His lips curl into an answering smile. “It does not, but what would you do if I told you it did?”

“Body-slam you back to the ground and pounce on you wantonly?”

He laughs. “I would like to see your attempts at throwing me back into the moss…”

I stick my tongue out at him brattily. “Next time can you look for an ancient spell that’ll give me super strength so I can finally kick your ass for real?!”

He snorts. “I shall peruse the library. Come, we must get closer to the tree.” He entangles our hands and leads me over and under the giant roots up to the huge trunk that reaches endlessly into the sky.

“The spell itself is quite simple. I suppose the true difficulty in it lies in getting to this tree and having the natural prowess for magic in ones blood. Witches and warlocks who learn their craft through books will not be able to perform it even with the help of the Yggdrasil tree.” He muses and my scientific brain soaks up all of this knowledge like a sponge. I love that about him; one of, oh, several bajillion things I love about him: that he always takes the time to explain things like this to me when he really doesn’t need to. I mean, it makes no difference to our current situation if I knew this little snippet of fact. But he knows how much I thirst for knowledge and how interested I am in the whole concept of magic, especially since I grew up in a world where it only exists under the guise of science, and not in this pure form that he has flowing through his veins. 

He pulls a slip of paper, covered in spiky Norse glyphs from inside his shirt and squints at it for a couple of seconds, brow furrowed. When he tucks it back inside his shirt I raise an eyebrow. “You mean you didn’t memorize it?”

He gives me a look. “It is a long and largely unknown spell. I am not perfect.”

“Could have fooled me…” I mumble under my breath, grinning crookedly.

“Oh, hush up.” He says, rolling his eyes which makes me laugh. His face splits into a smile at the sound.

“Place your hand on the tree.” He instructs. I do, feeling again that immense sense of calm and peace, and a settling of turmoil deep inside me, when I touch the rough bark.

Loki puts his own larger, long fingered hand beside mine, and squeezes my other hand that he’s still holding, tightly. His eyes slide closed, a small wrinkle of concentration appearing between his elegant brows. Then he begins to speak. No– sing. Or… chant? I’m not sure. His voice is soft and melodious; liquid, as it flows through the strange words I can’t understand, curling around them and sending them spiralling upwards into the topmost branches of the great tree. 

A soft, warm breeze stirs my hair. It becomes stronger and stronger, swirling around us like a vortex, sending the leaves and needles that litter the ground up to spin around us and the giant tree, up, up, up into the sky. A soft haunting melody strikes up, beautiful and soul piercing, appearing to be somehow made by this wind whistling through the roots of this tree. Its beauty makes my heart ache in the best way possible, like normally only my love for Loki can. If I had to assign a sound to how I feel about him this would be it.

Warmth flows through me, slow and sticky and sweet like sap, from the point where I hold my palm pressed against the rough bark of the Yggdrasil tree. Loki beside me has stopped chanting, his eyes are on me, I can see it from my peripheral. But I can’t turn to meet his gaze; I’m too engrossed in this languid feeling of utter love that is seeping through me. My own eyes slide closed as my head tilts back. Loki’s eyes on the side of my face feel like gentle caresses. I squeeze his hand a bit. He squeezes back.

The warmth slowly begins to recede from my body, but it doesn’t vanish completely instead settling around my heart in a subdued but very present glow.

I open my eyes, look at Loki. “Is that it?”

“Now we must seal it with a kiss to complete the flow of magic.” He says.

Not needing to be told twice, and never needing a reason to kiss him, I lean closer, stretch up onto my tippy toes and kiss him. More of that warmth flows through me now coming from his lips. The leaves rustle around us almost as if they’re cheering.

Loki pulls back first but leaves his forehead pressed to mine. “I lied.” He whispers, his breath ghosting across my cheeks.

I’m still a little disoriented from the heat and sweet passion of that kiss. “Huh?”

“The spell did not call for a kiss to finish the ritual. I just wanted to kiss you.”

I open my eyes to find his twinkling down at me. I laugh in response to his silliness. “You never need an excuse, dumbass. So it’s done?”

He nods, smiling a smile that seems to fill every single crevice within him; every hole and scar left on his heart and soul through all that he’s been through, all that’s happened to him, and everything that’s ever been done to him.

“I don’t feel any different. How can we tell?”

He laughs. “I suppose we shall have to wait and see if in a hundred years from now you still look as youthful and beautiful as you do today.”

I grin slightly. A hundred years. Seems like a long, long way away. But in my new reality it’ll barely be equivalent to a week; a blink of an eye; a human life.

Loki turns me fully toward him, holding me by the shoulders. “You truly are the most exquisite sight I have ever beheld and ever will witness in all our years to come. You shine, my love. Every part of you, inside and out. You are… you are so beautiful. My silver tongue fails me; it cannot find the words to describe just how much; how much you mean to me, everything you are. I just…”

“I love you!” I finish for him before I grab hold of his shoulders and use them as a springboard to push myself up into the air and wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, clinging like a koala. He catches me and holds me up, then starts to laugh, the happiest most carefree sound in all of existence and all of time, future or past. He starts to spin then, holding me clasped tightly to him, turning around and around and around his own person, and I’m clutching onto him laughing, as the world blurs around me into green and brown smears. 

Finally he collapses, letting himself drop to the mossy ground, me not even getting bumped. He settles me, draped across his chest, face inches from his still smiling own. Lifting his head he presses our lips together setting the new glow around my heart, and the connection spanning our souls on fire. His lips move gently against mine as he speaks, “As I love you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like I said, I don't originally plan on having a conclusion to the rather obvious dilemma that Loki was going to outlive Annie. I was kinda just going to leave it up to the individual reader's imaginations what would happen since I wasnt going to take the story as far as covering her demise. I toyed for a while with having the last chapter be in lokis POV looking at annie all old and grey and have it implied that she would be leaving him soon. And while I think that would have been a cool idea too I just couldnt bring myself to do it. Just like I couldnt bring myself to leave this issue of ages and lifespans open ended and unresolved. I've grown too attached to these two plus Loki has been through enough in canon and in this story PLUS a whole bunch of people have been commenting asking and talking about this exact topic lately as the story draws closer to its inevitable end. And I did promise a happy ending so I decided to go big or go home and really make it completely 100% HAPPY sunshine and rainbows for our two main characters. No questions asked.  
> But because this wasnt part of myboriginal plan this huge elephant in the room hasn't been brought up in the story before, clearly. I've tried to explain why from Annie's perspective but I hope that the whole thing doesnt seem kinda disjointed and out of place... i do like how I've explained away the spell solution though in a way that doesnt seem like something that "everyone could just do."  
> Anyway. It's there. It happened. And I'm glad i wrote it because I've grown way too attached to these two and they really do deserve their happily ever after, dammit.  
> Hope you all agree and dont think that this was too randomly out of the blue.  
> Two chapters to go. Aaaaah!


	68. Happily...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1/2 of the ending. I'll post both parts right after the other. No TRIGGER WARNINGS other than sadness about almost reaching the end of ths epic road. Seriously I've been procrastinating posting this for like 5 days now cause i havent wanted this to end. I even drew another picture because i wanted to keep stalling. First proper story I've posted and i just really dont wanna say goodbye to these two. 😫😫  
> Okay I'm done comisserating.  
> Enjoy this first part of the ending. I hope it's good.

It’s a further two weeks later and our last day on Asgard. Tomorrow we return to Midgard– Earth, God, I’ve been here so long I’m starting to talk like an Asgardian. The thought makes me smile. My new age limit makes me feel in part closer to the Asgardians than to my own species. In other aspects I’m still one hundred percent in tune with humans; am human. But somehow, in some way I now feel like I’m something… not more or better, but different. In a good way!

For our last day Loki offered to show me one of his favourite places in the Realm. It turns out that this place is an old, broken down tower in the middle of the overgrown forest that he tells me used to be an old and long since forgotten hunters base. The tower itself is amazing enough, looking in the sunlight that seeps through a break in the trees’ leafy foliage like the setting of a fairy tale. I almost expect that if I call out “Rapunzel, let down your hair,” a long blonde braid will drop down from the little window at the very top. 

But as if the tower itself isn’t spectacular and beautiful enough, the entire meadow on which it stands crumbling, is covered in wild rose bushes of every size and shade and color of the rainbow, that spread an absolutely heavenly scent throughout the air, and scatter their multihued petals all over the grass.

Loki takes me on a tour of the tower, showing me the inside which, like the outside is also covered in roses, the briers of which appear to be creeping in through any hole or gap they can find in the crumbling stones. Afterwards he pulls a picnic basket out of thin air, laughing at my dumbfounded expression. I still haven’t gotten used to his magic and I honestly don’t think I ever will be, even in 5,000 years. I’ll always love seeing his demonstrations though.

“Next time you research an obscure, ancient spell can it be one that’ll let me have a magic powers like you?” I ask as I spread the large, ridiculously, wonderfully clichéd red and white checkered picnic blanket on the thorny ground.

Loki laughs some more. “I have not found such a spell to exist yet. But my magic is at your disposal, you know that.”

“Well, disposal me some of that lamb stew, would you? Magically if you please.”

Grinning he does as I asked, transferring some of the lamb stew that has been one of my favourite dishes here, onto my plate. For old times sake, and without having to verbally agree to it, we eat the way we used to, alternating bites and kissing between each one with lips that taste like a different spice each time they touch.

After a meal comprised entirely of all my favourite Asgardian dishes we just lie back on the ground, enjoying the warm breeze, the sunlight streaming down, and the heavenly scent of the wild roses. We lie on our backs, perpendicular to one another, my head propped up against Loki’s upper stomach, my hair fanned across his body. One of his hands is resting behind his head, pillowing it, the other is combing through my hair, twirling long strands of it around his fingers. The sleeves of his olive green tunic shirt are rolled up to the elbow, and I’ve hitched the skirt of my dark purple dress up to rather indecent levels by Asgardian standards, baring my legs up to my upper thighs. As the sun warms us we lie in contented silence, occasionally feeling another rose petal drift down and land somewhere on our still bodies, tickling like a butterfly’s wings. My eyes are closed as I think about my future in this beautiful, serene moment.

Later tonight we’ve been invited to a farewell dinner with Odin, Frigga, and Thor, just like the welcoming feast we had when we first arrived. I wonder if it will be a tense and silent affair like the first one… I hope it won’t be quite so awkward because it appears as if Loki and his father have been making considerable strides in repairing their relationship. They had a meeting two days ago, and even though Loki wanted to ignore Odin’s bid for privacy and bring me along I told him it was okay. They met in the chamber leading off the throne room while I hung out pretending to read on the bottom step of the short tier that leads to the giant, golden throne. I didn’t hear any shouting or raised voices coming from the small antechamber which I took as a positive. When they emerged both were smiling slightly and Odin had one hand on Loki’s shoulder. Loki sobered quickly once we left the king’s presence and so far he hasn’t yet told me what went on, and what was said in that room. He’s promised that he will soon, once he’s figured a few things out in his mind, and I know he will; there’s no rush.

Tomorrow we will go home again; my home. Midgard. Earth. We plan on heading back to the Compound and I’m hoping that my old job is still there waiting for me. Technically I wouldn’t have to work; Loki being a prince and rich enough that neither of us will have to ever work another day in our loooong, long lives. But I want to, and Loki understands this. He knows how much I love my job at the Avengers Compound and how much I love my chosen career field in general. Maybe in a hundred years I’ll get tired of it. Maybe I’ll go back to school and finish my PhD for real; I’ll have to talk to Tony, see if anything ever came out of those talks he said he’d have with various big-wigs in the education sector. Maybe I’ll completely revise my choices and go back to school to study Art History, or Engineering, of Psychology, or Sports Medicine, or Law, or Underwater Basket Weaving… or all of the above! I have so much time now. Years and years and years. I’ll probably have to change my name and identity a few times to keep from arousing suspicion about my longer than average lifespan. Maybe one day my last name might even allow me to introduce myself as Odinson…

I’ll see my parents again soon too. I’ve missed them more than I realized over this extended vacation. I made contact with them recently, informing them that I was coming back and that I wanted to see them again soon as. Odin actually lent me Hugin to deliver a letter. I was doubtful that the raven would be able to travel across the universe and bring my parents my message, but he not only brought back a reply, he did it in less than 24 hours. Magical time traveling ravens? After everything I’ve seen; not so far fetched. 

I’m not sure yet how I’ll explain my new life expectancy to my mom and dad, or if I even will at all. Yet. One day I most likely will have to because not seeing me age may arouse suspicion eventually, but I have some time to figure that out. I plan to talk it over with Loki and get his opinion. I mean they know who he is, what he is, and they’ve accepted him. I know they’ll accept me too, and that in the end what I did was my choice; my decision and my life, but I don’t want them to be weirded out by the idea and the concept. At least no more than the conventional amount. _I’m_ still a bit weirded out by it honestly, when I think about it for too long...!

And after that… the future stretches endlessly before me, a million different possibilities and paths opening up in front of my mind’s eye, each of them new, each of them exciting, maybe not all of them working out the way I envision them, but still each of them wonderful. Because I’ll have Loki by my side. 

My thoughts turn to him. Maybe I can get Tony to let me make him my assistant in the lab. Maybe he can get a job fixing any sort of problems and issues in the Compound with magic. Maybe he’ll spend his days reading every book in Tony’s library. Maybe he’ll take up painting. I’ve asked him what he plans to do, worried that he may get bored if he just sits around and waits for me to finish work. He laughed softly and said that that was exactly what he was doing for most of the time we’ve known each other; sitting in his cell, waiting for me to finish work and come to him. And before that he was just sitting around with nothing to do; alone with his thoughts. He says he will find something to occupy his mind. I’ve told him no malicious mischief unless it’s on Agent Brenner. He snorted and promised me. 

My biggest concern is the fact that people like Agent Douchebag still won’t accept him. Humanity still sees and remembers New York. I know the Avengers made strides to bring the truth to the public, and I can only hope that during the time we were away that truth has continued to spread, but it seems impossible to expect that everyone will have believed it or accepted it. I don’t want Loki to be shunned, or feared, or treated with anger. He doesn’t deserve it. Maybe we’ll write a book together: _Our Adventures With The Big Purple Asshole And How He Manipulated Loki For Evil_. Then we’ll do a book tour and spread the truth. 

I grin at this rather ridiculous thought. But no matter what, I won’t let Loki get slandered. I understand that many people lost during the events of New York but so did he. He was a victim too, the true perpetrator and evil mastermind staying hidden behind a screen of torture and mind control, and I will never stop spreading that truth. Until it’s either universally believed, or forgotten. And I’m not going to hide us away in the Compound either. No, we will go on more trips all around the world. I want to show him the wonders of Midgard, and I want to see them myself. Loki’s magic will protect us if anyone wants to do him harm, and I’ll gladly tear to shreds anyone who tries too!

“What are you thinking about, love?” Loki’s soft voice reaches my ears, blown there by the same wind that carries the rose petals off into the skies.

I turn my head towards him, meeting those green, green eyes that put even the vibrancy of the sun drenched grass we’re lying on to shame. “You.”

He smirks. “Good.”

I giggle at his satisfied tone then turn to my side and reach for his hand, untangling his fingers from my hair, and entwining them with my own instead. “What if I was thinking about how annoying you are and about how I can’t stand you?”

One already gracefully arched eyebrow arches even higher showing me he sees through my obvious teasing. “At least you were still thinking of me.”

I grin then sit up, scooting closer to him and lying myself down again, halfway across his chest, my face now only inches from his. “You’re perfect you know that?!”

“I thought you couldn’t stand me?”

I stretch forward and kiss him. “I can’t. Obviously.”

His laughter slips inside me, smooth like pearls, sweet like honey, and warmer than the sun beating down on my back. His hand comes up to my hip, then slides up my side until it rests between my shoulder blades, fingers playing with one of the buttons that holds my dress closed.

“You aren’t so bad yourself, my love.” He murmurs against my lips.

“I do have my virtues.” 

His fingers undo the top button. “Are you trying to defile me?” I ask, pulling back.

He laughs, fingers undoing another button and two more in quick succession, hand then slipping beneath the thin fabric to splay against my bare skin. “I just want to feel you.” He whispers, before he rolls us, settling himself atop me, blanketing me in a warmth entirely different than that brought by the sun, but still no less comfortable, and beautiful.

We sink into each other, our minds somehow melding and twirling, or maybe it’s our souls. It’s not quite like that one time where he purposefully had us join our consciousnesses but it’s still just as intimate and beautiful. We’re completely in sync as around us the leaves rustle, the rosebushes bloom, tufts of clouds chase each other across the sun, and birds chirp and sing our love ballad.

Afterwards he holds me close, me once more lying on top of him. In our throes of passion we’d wound up rolling off the picnic blanket altogether, which had necessitated Loki to put himself beneath me since his bare skin is apparently impervious to the sharp thorns and prickly needles that litter the ground amid the flower petals. Now we lie there, wrapped up in one another, my hair in a tangled disarray, and my dress hitched up or down in all the wrong (or all the right?) places. 

Loki’s shirt hangs discarded in a rosebush, flapping gently like a flag in the breeze. His pants are back where they belong, but oh… they were so not just a few moments ago. He’s got rose petals in his hair; their bright hues brilliantly offset by the inky darkness of his raven locks. He’s singing to me; _Here Comes The Sun_ , and the familiar strains in his beloved voice conjure up a million memories of the times he’s sung or hummed it to me. Times when I was breaking, broken, falling apart. Desperate and lost, needing him, unable to breathe without him; needing him to show me; to help me breathe, because I couldn’t do it, couldn’t handle it by myself. That simplest of instinctive human acts: breathing, and I was unable to do it properly without his presence. I still need him just as much; want him, maybe even more now than I did then, but this feels nicer, less dependent. I love him, I’ve never loved anyone more and I never will. I still need him and I know he needs me too. But now I _want_ to need him. It’s not so much a dependency, an addiction anymore that I can’t help. Now I don’t want to help it. There’s nothing and no one that I’d rather be addicted to than Loki and his love.

I lie atop him, in his arms, feeling warm, and, safe and protected, listening to his soft voice singing with the wind itself. And as I lie there, and as I think these thoughts it’s as if a weight I haven’t truly been aware of for a long time now, or maybe I just got used to it because of its constant presence, suddenly lifts; spreads wings and detaches from me, making me feel as if I too may just float away with lightness. My lungs expand slowly as I take in a deep inhale of warm air, scented with wild roses, fresh grass, and Loki. 

Just as slowly, just as reverently, I let it back out. Then I take another. And another. Loki’s breathing automatically times itself with mine, but this time, I realize I’m the one who is dictating the speed and depth of our breaths. Before it was always him, calming me. But now..

I take one more deep breath, reveling in this feeling, this realization, this moment, closing my eyes and hugging the love of my forever life closer and tighter.

I can finally breathe on my own again… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I have two stories on the go right now. Technically 3 but two are like halfway ish done. I think I know which one I want to post first but I'll share synopsis here so if anyone wants to let me know their thoughts or which one they want first they can totally please do so. Remember i suck horribly at summaries so anything i say here wont probably describe the plots well at all.  
> 1\. A story about another OC and Bucky Barmes. Meeting him as the Winter soldier. She has her own problems involving abuse at home so that'll be trigger warned and somehow shes intrigued by him. Hes clearly dangerous but he never hurts her and she becomes suspicious about wether hes acting of his own free will. Eventually we get to the point where he remembers who he is and then we see them connecting in that way. Basically she helps him become more human while hes still controlled and he eventually helps her right back once hes away frkm hydra. Trust me, actual story's a lot better than that sounds.  
> 2\. A story about Loki and Sigyn very loosely eventually following that legend of Loki chained in that cave with the snake and Sigyn trying to help him. But mostly it's about them being put into an arranged marriage pact and learning to love eachother. Also Loki is king of asgard in this. It's actually mostly just domestic fluff stuff with some action late late on. It's written in a bit of an older style of writing, think game of thrones (song of ice and fire) sounding without all the blood and guts.  
> And 3. This ones not even close to finished in any way but basically its OC and the winchester brothers. Meeting them around season 7 when they're famous for being serial killers (leviathans), being scared of them, learning to trust them, and roped into that is OC struggling with an eating disorder and the brothers having to figure that out. I just like writing stories where both my own characters are troubled and then combining that with the canon characters troubles and somehow having everyone hash things out with much fluff and dashes of smut. I think that's my MO or something...  
> Yea so those are my shitty summaries. Feel free to ask any questions you may have in the comments. Or else tell me which story youd want to read first, or just in general what you think of them.  
> Oky I'm done. Thanks for reading as always. Final chapter coming up!


	69. ...Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2/2 of the ending.  
> Last chapter. Final chapter. Are you ready? I'm not! Aaaah!  
> TRIGGER WARNING for fleeting, vague mentions of self harm and any of my general depression at letting this story go that may have seeped through my keyboard and into your screens.  
> But enjoy. I hope it's a worthy ending!!!

**Some months later**

Above us the tent of the sky has spread its wings wide, scattering millions of stars across its dark velveteen fabric. We lie on the roof of the Compound that Stark has build for his band of costumed clowns. We returned here after our departure from Asgard so Annie could resume the job she so loves. True to his word Stark allowed her back with open arms, which I know was something she was afraid he would not permit. We still live here too, though we have been afforded a bigger room than that little water closet she had before that was almost smaller than my cell. Often times Annie asks me if I am not uncomfortable in this room, which compared to my suite in the palace is rather small. Sometimes, if I allow myself to dwell on my old materialistic nature I could complain but after two years imprisoned in Stark's dungeons, and years before that being imprisoned by the Titan, whose cells made the Compound’s seem like the finest Asgardian rooms by comparison, this is luxurious. In any case I would gladly live on the streets or deep within the forest just as long as my little love is still by my side.

We are developing plans to one day soon move into or own apartment in the city. I have, to my own great surprise, been enchanted by the city of New York. The last and only time I was here I was too preoccupied by my plan to escape from under Thanos' thumb, and truly I must say that the city is infinitely more impressive when not crumbling under an alien invasion and choked beneath a massive cloud of dust. I am most intrigued by the architecture, something that has always secretly interested me, which both my father and brother once used to scorn at. But my love does not scorn me; she hears about my interests and she goes out of her way to indulge me, even if she herself carries not the same fascination for the subject. And so she does what she does best and researches so that when we walk through the city streets, me wearing dark felt coat, a cap pulled low over my brow, and _(shudder)_ jeans so I will not get recognized as the one who once attempted to raze this city to the ground, she is full to the brim with obscure facts about the buildings around us. I am both intrigued by the fact that in some ways the Midgardians methods of building is infinitely less advanced than Asgardians, but yet their primitive buildings reach far, far into the sky, higher even than our castle. It was quite incredible and I told her so. Her shining excitement and happiness at showing me something Midgardian and finding me impressed by it fueled my desire to have her show me the rest of Midgard too, from the grimmest rat infested hovels, to the grandest castles she claims dot the European countrysides. 

And we will. Annie is full to bursting with plans for our future together. They change every day but always include me, thank the Norns. I listen and agree, and suggest, and sometimes argue just a tiny bit to keep things interesting. The truth is I would go wherever she pointed me as long as she come with me; and no matter the splendid wonders she shows me none will ever compare to her. I more than likely will be unable to take my eyes off her to view what she shows me, whether it be a castle, ancient triangular fortresses in a desert, or this grand canyon, which always seems to top her lists. Nothing could hope to compare to her in splendor and beauty. 

We plan to begin our journeys after she has completed her education. She explained the situation to me and how she was cheated and robbed back when she could not properly defend herself against such an act, and she has told me about Stark’s involvement in making the culmination of her education possible. I am grudgingly grateful to him for this, as anything that makes my little love so shiningly happy is something I can feel no resentment over, no matter who’s hand was involved in making it possible. So once she officially bears the title "Dr. Ellis" we shall depart on a journey of world travel and, though I often times feign neutrality, I am quite looking forward to it. The enthusiasm with which she plans our life together is infectious, though I would be content wherever she is with whatever she wishes to do.

I look at her now, bathed in moonlight, the silvery light licking and caressing her curves, making her hair shine in rose-golden hues, and her eyes glimmer like two opals, iridescent windows to her soul. She is a moon goddess, a sliver from the great celestial body itself, fallen to the earth to be kept safe and treasured by me. And I shall. Until the end of times.

In this moment, on this precious night, as we lie on the roof beneath the stars my head is pillowed in Annie’s lap and she is reading to me from a book entitled _The Poetic Edda_. She procured it for me, telling me that it is Midgard’s attempt at translating the old Norse myths and legends. It has turned into a bit of a joke between us. She reads me the Midgardians’ version of events, and I tell her what truly happened, although some of their imaginings are purely ridiculous fantasy. For Norns’ sake, they imagined me mating with horses and mothering not only an eight legged foal, but also snakes, wolves, and the feminine embodiment of Hel itself. 

“Love,” I say softly. “Put down the book for a minute.”

She immediately does as I ask, her diamond bright eyes blinking down at me their question.

I look up at her for a moment longer, drinking in her moonlight soaked countenance before I speak. “You know I love little more than to hear you reading to me, even fables as far-fetched as those, but if you will permit me I would like to take this moment to interrupt and tell _you_ a story instead.”

Without hesitation or question she places the book aside after carefully folding down one corner, creasing the page with her thumbnail to keep her place. “I’d love to hear it, God of Stories.” She says with a crooked smile, referencing one of the tales from that accursed book that named the former as one of my many titles. 

I roll my eyes dramatically and exageratedly, making her laugh sweet music. As she leans back on one of her hands, the other beginning to comb gentle fingers through my hair, I start to speak. “Precisely one year ago at this very moment in time, I was sitting inside a cramped cell in the basement far beneath us, when I heard footsteps along the corridor outside. Moments later the heavy door at the end of the hallway was thrown open and the footsteps approached. Ever closer, ever closer. Light, quick steps, as if the person who walked there was unsure of themselves and their path. Ever closer, ever closer. And then, then a woman came into view of my cell and she saw me there and startled. And for a second, only a second her eyes met mine and in those eyes I saw pain; a pain that reflected my own and a strength that did the same. And then she blinked. And then she ran, ran as if I had scared her. And in that second I could feel my life change, my world tilt on its axis, my entire universe shift, as all was flipped upside down as everything I ever thought I knew was challenged. All in a few seconds and in the blink of two eyes that held the very stars that I so missed seeing.”

She is blinking at me now, those very eyes glazed with moisture. Her hand in my hair has stilled, but her soft, full lips are curved into a smile so sweet it pierces my heart. 

“Was that really a year ago?” she asks, her beloved voice wavering.

“Down to the minute.” I reply, another quick glance up at the heavens confirming my timeline.

“Wow…” she breathes, breath misting in the cool night air. “it seems like… way longer but also way shorter that I’ve known you. That’s… that’s crazy. To think that a year ago I had no idea how much you were going to mean to me. A year ago I wasn’t even talking. Just… wow!”

I reach up, tracing the tip of my fingers over her beautiful face, each curve, dip, rise, and contour of her delicate features more familiar to me than my own. “You may not have been talking but your heart always spoke to me. I simply did not know how to listen and understand it yet...”

“But you’ve always understood. Even then, that second time I came to you without consciously meaning to, you knew exactly what to do to calm me down. You knew exactly what I needed. You always have. You always _do!”_

From her words and her face I know that she too is remembering that time she tore back into my domain, glancing off the wall, and looking as if she had been ravaged and chased by a pack of wolves. I remember the inexplicable anger and desire to harm whomever had put her into such a state; make them pay. And I remember how fiercely, inexplicably protective I had felt of this little human. It had surprised me completely that I could feel such compassion for one of these… creatures. I had never hated them the way it was portrayed after my misguided and misrepresented attack on their world. But I had certainly never felt kinship with them, never seen them as something like me. They were inferior; I was superior. It was that simple. But then, with this small, curvaceous bundle of blonde hair, inner pain and turmoil, and more heart, soul, and bravery than I ever witnessed in any being, my whole life changed. And continued to change every time I set eyes on her. It still does. I still feel the ground shifting beneath my feet whenever I see her, whenever she speaks now, touches me, says she loves me…

Her beloved voice pulls me out of my memories. “Remember this?” she asks, a sweet, melancholy smile curving her lips. She holds up one hand, palm toward me, fingers spread slightly. In the pale moonlight I can just make out the silvery crescent scars that dot the smooth expanse of skin, from here once nervous habit of driving her fingernails into her palm to the point of breaking the fragile skin that stretches across them. A million memories stir at the sight of those small scars, memories of her pain and how much it had hurt me to see how great her suffering and anguish truly was. So great that she would subconsciously cause herself pain, spill her own blood, in an attempt to alleviate the inner agony through outward pain. I had once tried to do the same, yet I had done it willingly; consciously. Most of the time she had not even been aware of what she did until afterwards when her skin was shredded and her hands dripping scarlet.

But now the wounds that for so long were permanent are healed and I have not witnessed her clenching fists in months. These scars which I once hated because they were evidence of her pain and sadness, now show me her strength and her healing, and therefore I now love them, as I love every part of her.

I place my own hand against hers, palm to palm, the way we once used to do when an inch of plastic and an ocean of unknowns still separated us. Nothing separates us now; not glass, or bars, or words, written or said and unsaid. Not thoughts, or secrets, or fears, or our pasts. There is no one who understands or knows me better than her and no one who’s mind I can read better even though I never use my born talents of telepathy on her. She knows my heart, she knows my soul; she _is_ both my heart and soul, and I am hers. And for all we have been through, together and separately, nothing will ever tear us apart again.

I fold my fingers slowly down between her own, entwining our hands, our palms still pressed together. Her smile pours into me, lighting up the darkness within me, making me feel as only she can that I am not what I have always believed myself to be: inherently bad, destined for evil, a monster, unlovable. I always knew that love existed in the worlds; I saw it in my parents, I saw it in the way they were with my brother; I just never believed that it existed for me; never saw it for _me_. But then I saw _her._ She _is_ love. To me she is the personification, the very embodiment of love. And by the grace of all the Gods she has chosen to give herself, her love, to me. There is no greater treasure in the universe that compares to this. Now and for all time I shall hold it dearer than my own heart and strive to be everything she deserves. I am not worthy of her but I shall always try my best to be.

I know she believes the same; that _she_ is unworthy of _me,_ and this thought is incomprehensible. But as she says it matters not what we each think in this situation as long as the other deems us as worthy. It is not our choice to decide who if we deserve each other. We chose to love the other and that choice is entirely our own. I know how much choice matters to her and I would never take hers from her again. And she by some miracle chose me. And I choose her. Forever.

I stretch upwards until I can press my lips to hers. Her starlit eyes slide closed almost immediately but I keep mine open for a moment longer to once more savour her dear, dear beauty. When my own lids lower in contentment I feel, as I so often feel when I kiss her, touch her, see her, listen to her, simply find myself in her presence; a warmth and a settling deep within me. It is a feeling I have never truly known, not on Asgard, not in all the years I have been alive…

I am with Annie and I am whole. 

I am with Annie and I am at peace. 

I am with Annie and I am home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we are. The end of a 7 month journey. It seems way shorter honestly... but in any case I want to thank you all so much for sticking with me. Originally this story was supposed to end at around chapter 35ish but your guys' support and enthusiasm for this story inspired me to keep adding to it, and then it kinda just grew wings and practically wrote itself so thank you thank you thank you. Seriously. I can not believe the amount of support and love I got for this story and even though it ended the story itself isnt going anywhere. And neither am I. I never expected this many people to read and like my writing but the fact that so many people did has given me so much confidence as a writer and inspired me to keep on writing new things. I may take a bit of a break for a while to write my next story/stories so I can post relatively consistently and not stress about creating new content weekly but I'll be back soon. THANK YOU again for joining me on Annie and Loki's adventure. On to new ones! I love you all so damn much. For the last time on this story: THANK YOU SO MUUUUUUUCH FOR READING!!!!!!💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖


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